There are also the letters which were scattered about Wild's room after the murder of Sir Rowland. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. . I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn. "There's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied.
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