Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. He squinted and a disgusted look came over him. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. You shall swing for this after next sessions, or my name's not Jonathan Wild. E. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love.
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