" And he pointed significantly to the hand. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. 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. ‘Tell me, my boy. The manager tells me that you are an American. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone.
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