She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right.
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