ToC Jonathan Wild's first object, as soon as he had made good his retreat, was to ascertain what had become of his janizaries, and, if possible, to release them. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. ‘You have something more to tell me?’ Jack grinned. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. Mr Jarvis’s sister, that was. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. She was never able to trace the changes her attitude had undergone, from the time when she believed herself to be the pampered Queen of Fortune, the crown of a good man’s love (and secretly, but nobly, worshipping some one else), to the time when she realized she was in fact just a mannequin for her lover’s imagination, and that he cared no more for the realities of her being, for the things she felt and desired, for the passions and dreams that might move her, than a child cares for the sawdust in its doll. "Only, what you have done is out of all human calculation. She slipped her hand between them and grasped his erection. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed.
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