The Mysteries of London; or, Revelations of the British Metropolis — page 243: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

OF LONDON. ost Brian involuntarily retreated some paces from her. : Ishmael Spencer ! exclaimed he ; Ishmael, the usurer ? . Ishmael, the forger, sir! Ishmael, the robber! Susannah appeared almost suffocated with emo- tion, yet ske pronounced these last words with energy, and as heroically as a valiant prisoner of war would do, when ordering troops led out to execute him, to fire upon him, I have an anxious desire to know the history of your life, replied Brian. tory Brian. The little French woman was still. comfortably sleeping in the dark cabiaet, warmly wrapped up in her satin cloak. She was stili dreaming, that Brian was relating to Susannah the ingenious his- tory of Robinson Crusoe, thrown by a storm upon a desert island. it was a long time since the little French lady bad read Robinson Crusoe, and, therefore, she listened with a more fixed attention to the recital of his adventures. | } Susapnali appeared to be summoning her recol- oy CHAPTER Vil. ra ) _ I will recount to you ail I know of my own hig- ~ lections, and, aiter a short pause, she thusbegan! ~ 2% . * 7 ve heey 3 a ‘t ¥ Behind my father’s house, in Goodman’s Fields, ; . said. Susannah, there was a garden, in which there : Fa f stood, twelve trees—twelve large oaks, sir, such ee ee omni bookere com pb aE eA: