She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. This was occasioned by Jonathan Wild, who was seen to mount his horse and join the train. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing.
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