Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. " "Well, Sir, his name?" "Jonathan Wild. I took him out of the hands of death. There never is much left for me. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII.
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