“He would never have found you out if you had not personated me. 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. Creeping stealthily up stairs, unmasking a dark lantern, and glancing into each room as he passed, he was startled in one of them by the appearance of Mrs. But, say we're friends. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. ’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger. " He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he had imagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. Even the stars were strangers.
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