When he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily. 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. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship. One research is very like another.
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