It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. “Hey, Mike. The night his execution was therefore passed in a most anxious state of mind; nor was his uneasiness allayed by the appearance of Jonathan Wild, who, after he had been driven from the roof of the jail, repaired to the Middle Stone Ward in a fit of ungovernable passion, to vent his rage upon the prisoner, whom he looked upon as the cause of the present calamity. “You blithering idiot!” he exclaimed. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. "The speedy union of Thames Darrell with Winifred Wood," replied Jack. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him.
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