You don’t understand. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. “Let’s go outside. Gay, I've been in many odd quarters of our city—have visited haunts frequented only by thieves—the Old Mint, the New Mint, the worst part of St. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. —Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724.
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