” John looked at her sympathetically. Her elbows were ready. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. " "I don't know. But probably not the truth.
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