For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. ’ ‘Ah yes. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. “I find it very hard to write this letter. Her heartbeat raced, her limbs turned to water, and it was only by a miracle and the strength of the arms that held her that she remained standing on her feet. He now tells her that she is free, no longer a slave. 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.
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