Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. “I am sure of it. ” Ennison had things to say, but he looked at her and held his tongue. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. In a sense I don’t care. It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. But send me word. I've foiled him hitherto, and will foil him yet. Indeed, I've heard him say that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under his own roof.
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