She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. "Dog!" cried Wild, freeing himself by a powerful effort, and dealing Jack a violent blow with the heavy bludgeon, which knocked him backwards, "you are not yet a match for Jonathan Wild. "All right. The Bitchster strikes again. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. Ah, and put him under if he wakes up. Of course, this does not apply to uninteresting old maids," Prudence modified with a dry little smile. "The gentleman under the table," she answered. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar.
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