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IX. ToC Jonathan Wild's first object, as soon as he had made good his retreat, was to ascertain what had become of his janizaries, and, if possible, to release them. To-morrow at twelve I'll be with you, Mr. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s. Wild's busy. Jackson’s. "Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. There was also the daunting task of getting dressed.
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