"I was not aware that Jonathan Wild was an acquaintance of yours, Mr. "Oho!" he said. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. "Ay, to business," returned Jonathan, grinning, "the sooner the better. It isn't friendly as I thought it would be. ’ ‘Good. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. Alors, how did you get in?’ ‘Oh, we broke in,’ Gerald told her cheerfully. There were the burnt papers still in the grate.
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