” Her heart had warmed toward him. 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. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. Worse than any man. He fended these things off from him with the rump of his fourth piece of cake.
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