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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. He stood away from her. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. And we’re going to fight that old world down there. “I want to make you happy, Lucy. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones.

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