The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. 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. Ann Veronica sat back with a sigh of relief. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. ” “There was no need for such heroism,” Annabel said coldly.
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