“I should like you to come here,” she said. There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants.
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