"Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. I care not. Martin's on Ludgate-hill, and Christchurch in Newgate Street, were also distinguishable. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. “Goodnight. "Fly!" cried Jack; "escape if you can; don't mind me.
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