I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word. I know he is dead. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. He opened the drawer of the writing table. He leaned forward to better drink her in.
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