CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. Instantly I knew that I was going to run away that night before he returned from the neighbouring island. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. I don’t. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love.
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