Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. “Please make yourselves comfortable while I see to the coffee. ” He signed his name and reflected. “I don’t want to take up your time. Only three days. 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. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn’t.
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