That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. 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. F. He showed me a black mark under his ear, where the noose would be tied.
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