How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down 458 XXXI. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. ‘Inside, miss!’ ‘But what is it?’ ‘Quick! We need the major. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. It will take a month to clean up.
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