The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. Words of encouragement and sympathy were addressed to Jack, who, as he looked around, beheld many a friendly glance fixed upon him. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild.
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