Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. 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. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. He does not look the criminal. You go to your room and ring for your maid. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow.
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