” “What case?” “A divorce—or something—I don’t know. 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. “It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. I should say that having a doubt was enough to condemn it. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. 8. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn.
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