In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. "A friend," replied Jonathan, uncocking the pistol, and placing it in his pocket. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten.
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