58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. An hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to Jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan Wild. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression.
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