All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. ‘How much does he know?’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned narrowed eyes on Gerald. A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. “I was sick of the make-believe. My name is Wild— Jonathan Wild.
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