“I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. A dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh.
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