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. “I murdered them, John. Their conversation hung. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of
chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. “What the hell is going on here, Officer?” He
grumbled. He drew an
awed breath. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always
looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and
raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her,
echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and
enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Eating him while he was at the end of a heroin binge left
her sleepy and dazed.
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