"The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. ” “Why should I? I have told you that I do not wish for acquaintances in London. 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. ‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence.
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