‘I went to see him because I thought he ought to know about you, having already been imposed upon by our friend Gosse. 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 silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him.
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