And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. 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. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. “I have spoken too many truths to-night. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. ” Lucy replied.
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