This man and he were alike, and about the same age. 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. A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper.
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