She said there was no other way to get them to stop their constant screaming. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. I can’t even carry a tune with a bucket. 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.
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