” Anna moved towards the door, but her sister detained her. At that, the girl jumped up. 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. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely. He can't be far off. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. She felt sickeningly empty. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. She assumed with a kind of mesmeric force all the propositions that Ann Veronica wanted her to define.
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