Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. And immediately afterwards the curtain was drawn aside, and disclosed the Satanic countenance of Jonathan Wild, who had crept into the house unperceived, "I'll tell you, why he can't go back to his master," cried the thief-taker, with a malignant grin.
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