She replied softly. She was guided into the dock and prompted by a helpful police inspector. 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. She quickly strangled him with the piano wire as he looked at her, his lips open as if to scream, but his larynx had been intentionally sliced. ‘You are the one that I have met in London.
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