Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. " "Nay, if you're bent upon this folly," observed Wild, who appeared to have his own reasons for humouring the lad, "I shan't hinder you. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards.
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