When Ann Veronica got it she had at first a wild, fantastic idea that it contained a tip. "I'll gibbet the rascal. He pulled her from him to kiss her on the mouth and paused, looking into her face. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. A white man takes his life in his hands. 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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