ToC Saint Giles's Round-house was an old detached fabric, standing in an angle of Kendrick Yard. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. He cocked an eyebrow. Sheppard in the asylum, and take her this, and send her that;—and I've never prevented you, though such mistaken liberality's enough to provoke a saint. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come.
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