A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. “Do you mind if I tweeze your eyebrows?” Shari asked her. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard.
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