Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;—but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,—and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely.
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