I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. They went to the Zoological Gardens together one Saturday to see for themselves a point of morphological interest about the toucan’s bill—that friendly and entertaining bird—and they spent the rest of the afternoon walking about and elaborating in general terms this theme and the superiority of intellectual fellowship to all merely passionate relationships. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies. She had to have him, her body was going crazy for the want of sex.
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