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"It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible. With delicate touch he rescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. Sebastian crouched on the floor with a single dead victim, a young highwayman. ” John said to Lucy. She was betrothed to Gianfrancesco Iovelli at the age of nine. —Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724.

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