" "My turn comes before yours, Sir," interposed his better half. He hated to destroy it; but that was the obligation imposed; and he was an honourable man. She held up the lamp. 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. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. Then she went in and up-stairs, hesitated on the landing, and finally, a little breathless and with an air of great dignity, opened the door and walked into Ann Veronica’s room. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. ’ At last.
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