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 in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. Promise me one thing before I leave you. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. She elected to go to prison.
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