It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. This morning I met him at the dock, and he wouldn't take the other fifty. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit.
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