The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. I loathe this room. My thanks, by the by.
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