But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. Jonathan Wild. He smiled. Yes—as he would have liked.
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