‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. ” It came upon him like a flash. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. Well, kill me. But he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation.
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