She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. There's nothing on the card to indicate it, but I'm a detective. 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. “Very well,” said Ann Veronica, with an air of concluding the discussion.
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