“Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked. Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. . Somehow logic could not explain her. Then fury claimed her and she could no longer pretend. 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.
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