Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. “You know what? You’re right. 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. Then he went on: “—and, indeed, to most of the established things in life is, frankly, unsatisfactory. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. It slipped out—as did that “she”. . She laughed a little bitterly. “If you speak—farewell. I want to be myself. There is a new life, different from the old life of dependence, possible.
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