She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. ‘It is that he needed me for his lie, no?’ Melusine said, striving to control the quiver in her voice. 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. The actual danger was lost sight of in these wild apprehensions; and many timorous beings were scared beyond reason's verge by the excess of their fears.
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