She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. But all those empty years!… My heart was hot. Entering the Lodge, the first person he beheld was Austin, who was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed. Together they crept through the erstwhile drawing room and entered the massive flagged hall. 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. We thought of starting in half an hour’s time, and trying for a theatre somewhere on the way. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible.
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