"Stop, Caliban," interposed Mrs. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. 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.
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