The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. The transverse spars before mentioned were as slippery as ice; and the hollows between them were filled ankle-deep with water.
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