“When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. It was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish. 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. Take my advice. My natural parents both died a very long time ago and I have been on my own for a great deal of my existence.
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