Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. There was no rush. "Surely," observed Thames, laughing, "to one who entertains so high an opinion of Jonathan Wild, as Mr. 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.
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