"Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically. “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Please to release me. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. "Look quick, Blueskin, and be cursed to you!" was growled in the deep tones of Jonathan Wild.
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