She felt terrible lying to him. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. "I likes to hear vot you says. 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. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. . Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. "At the Black Lion in our street," replied Jack, without hesitation.
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