Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. "I'll see him fettered myself. That is why I would not marry this man whom I did and whom I do care for a little. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. Much to my amazement, as soon as I was in her presence I forgot about my magic and thought only of love.
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