“If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. The young man had knocked over the siphon. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. I always wondered why he bought my mother's pearls so readily. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. There was no point in rushing into the long walk home. .
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