Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. “Perhaps you will help me shuffle?” Ann Veronica did, and also assisted nimbly with the arrangements of the rows of eight with which the struggle began. I shall only pray that I may reward you for all your goodness to me. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy.
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