Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. "There is nobody else. 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. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. But through the fault of that pig, who dared to call himself Valade and masquerade in society under her birthright. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such quiet determination.
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