The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. "There's my answer!" rejoined Wild, hurling the bludgeon at him, with such fatal effect, that striking him on the head it brought him instantly to the ground. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. I did not lay any traps for her. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. "Coming!—so is midnight—so is Jonathan Wild," retorted Jack, with a significant look at Thames.
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