The Disguise. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her. "Surely," observed Thames, laughing, "to one who entertains so high an opinion of Jonathan Wild, as Mr. I must have something in hand.
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