She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. 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. So here is your chance, Mademoiselle Charvill. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. Alban's to-night. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his.
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