"No," replied Jonathan, with a brutal laugh. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. He hated to destroy it; but that was the obligation imposed; and he was an honourable man. "From Jonathan Wild's confidential servant what could be expected but treachery?" With this, he proceeded to dress himself in Quilt Arnold's clothes, pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as completely to conceal his features, slouched the hat over his brows, drew the huge boots above his knees, and muffled himself up in the best way he could. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. Then suddenly he seized a new preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better part of a week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully done—and hurled it across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the cemented floor under the bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he swept his arm along a shelf of re-agents and sent them to mingle with the debris on the floor. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison.
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