“Mr. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. She came to me in a dream. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning.
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