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. Rowland's purposes were, however, defeated in a manner as unexpected as appalling. He was beginning to think about her inordinately. Michelle stood perplexed. There was no one stirring in the flats. “Damned Rascal!” he said.
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