He paced faster, stomping around. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. On that night, I surrendered myself to Jonathan Wild, and became— what I am. You'll find me at supper. ” “Anything except that,” he murmured.
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