She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. She was suddenly grave. “I had found her at last, and she shot me. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. I am Jonathan Wild. ’ She shrugged. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. And I'll answer for it, she'll never say a syllable to annoy you again.
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