Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. 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 truth, Sheila never saw Lucy murder anyone at all, she only saw the blood. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own.
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