He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. In vain Wood protested his innocence. " "Well, Sir, his name?" "Jonathan Wild. “She has one, that’s why. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. She sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. You see, my riddle is solved.
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