It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. On that night, I surrendered myself to Jonathan Wild, and became— what I am.
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