The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. “You’re great, Lucy! I had no idea you were so great!” John exclaimed. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. “I don’t think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life to which they would draw her,” she said.
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