" "You don't say so!" exclaimed Shotbolt. "Surely," observed Thames, laughing, "to one who entertains so high an opinion of Jonathan Wild, as Mr. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. I hated him. ’ The sergeant’s air became positively avuncular. ’ ‘Of course she could not have known to whom they belonged. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls.
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