... on the hop; my foot slipped and s'life, I was down. But for that I'd ha' spitted him like a partridge. By the time I was on my legs the mob were after him. I joined in the hue and cry and we ran him down to your house. Now then, where's his hiding hole? It'll mean a matter o' twenty guineas in your pocket ... — Madame Flirt - A Romance of 'The Beggar's Opera' • Charles E. Pearce
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