"I've done nothing to offend you," persisted Jack. “How could he call except in your absence, as you are never at home in the afternoon. Beauty has bloomed and faded. It’s odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case. Gerald’s breath caught. Kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. Not a job he may care about; but he's a good sport. It is in the lower cupboard. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. 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.
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