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’ Shock threw Melusine’s heart out of kilter and she looked instinctively towards the major. “There are a good many Whites in London. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. 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. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. He paced faster, stomping around. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her.
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