“Ding-dong-Diedermayer is here, Lucy. And do you, Jack, attend to your work, and mind you don't get into further mischief. We know London, and you are a stranger here. ” “I’ll try not to see him again,” said Ann Veronica. Abruptly, Gerald turned. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. Wood. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. "Here's a cross-bite.
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