This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. The boat was set free, and the men resumed their seats. ‘You will keep yourself utterly quiet,’ he instructed, a growl in her ear as they headed for the door. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. ” She smiled at the thought. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre.
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