” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone. " "I'm afraid I don't understand. ” John replied. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. 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. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. ‘It is of no use to try to stop me.
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