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. And I have seen work by his pupils myself that struck me as being—well, next door to shameful. The cheating of the boys in the stores ceased. She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. We've ridden post all the way, and I'm horribly tired, or you wouldn't have mastered me so easily.
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