” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. They all left the room. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. He was offered the Bowl, but he left it and smiled, Crying, "Keep it till call'd for by JONATHAN WILD! "The rascal one day, "Will pass by this way, "And drink a full measure to moisten his clay! "And never will Bowl of Saint Giles have beguiled "Such a thorough-paced scoundrel as JONATHAN WILD!" V.
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