The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him.
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