Part 2 Ann Veronica carried a light but business-like walking-stick. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. She saw his eyes glaze over. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. ” He said. Her tone was hoarse with passion.
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