It’s odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case. "He would return my letters unopened or destroy them. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. Hill’s first night back amongst us, too. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard.
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