But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. . ’ ‘Are we to infer that he had a choice?’ enquired Gerald. 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. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. ‘I live in Kent.
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