He moaned. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. “So your father brought you here to live in the States?” John asked. He was consumed with desire. This is altogether insupportable. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. “By Jove!” he said, “there is something direct about you. . I do—with all my heart. The kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. It isn’t just one among a number of important things; for her it is the important thing, and until she knows far more than I know of the facts of life, how is she to undertake it? So please; if you will, forget that you wrote that letter, and forgive this answer. Jonathan Wild's House in the Old Bailey XVII.
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