She changed her mind that day, as her mother Marina had predicted. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. He laughed. An incredible road he had elected to travel; he granted that it was incredible; and along this road somewhere would be Desire. Hitherto you’ve seen only my easy, kindly side. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word. ” John peered at her as she went to him.
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