My heart would speak if it could, for it is very full. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said.
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