Their small talk continued. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. ” “I wish you good luck,” she answered. "Were I in your place," said Smith, "I should be apprehensive of Wild, because he's a declared enemy. No more scuffling. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. 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. .
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