“Hello, John. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. "Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived Jonathan Wild kneeling beside the body of Blueskin.
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