It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. " "You hear, my son," said the widow eagerly. 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. I love him as a brother.
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