“You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. Yes, I can readily believe it. ‘Do not be alarmed, Jacques. On that night, I surrendered myself to Jonathan Wild, and became— what I am. He was extremely loyal to you. .
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