Get the pole out of your ass. If I'd been in the way, instead of Jonathan Wild, that accident wouldn't have happened. By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. "Where did you get this from?" asked Wild, greatly surprised at the result of his investigation. And I've already told you the accident was not Jack's fault. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas.
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