" "Ah, yes; that coat. Thanks. 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. ’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. Are these folks your current foster parents?” “Yes. " "Norris!" gasped Lady Trafford, trembling violently. Woof! What a dog. " He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth.
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