—Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. Her name was Rhea. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. ” “Mary, please don’t cry. She may afford us some necessary information.
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