"We'll see that, you yelping hounds!" rejoined Jonathan, glaring fiercely at them. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. "From Jonathan Wild's confidential servant what could be expected but treachery?" With this, he proceeded to dress himself in Quilt Arnold's clothes, pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as completely to conceal his features, slouched the hat over his brows, drew the huge boots above his knees, and muffled himself up in the best way he could. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. To divide the agony into two spheres so that one would mitigate the other.
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