And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. . I’ve told you that practically already. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. But really it is much more than that. They carried no more than bare subsistence wages; and they demanded all her time and energy. They had refused. 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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