Our men had him fast, held down in a chair. ‘This, as you see, is an identity for your cousin, André Valade. 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. And she had not dressed herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. Jonathan caught her in his arms.
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