My name is Wild— Jonathan Wild. We are linked together in this matter, and must go through with it. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. It was Martin, she could hear his heart beat. ” There was a moment’s silence. Jonathan Wild's House in the Old Bailey XVII. Lucy wore it every day from then on. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel.
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