Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. 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. She formed a wild resolution, and, lest she should waver from it, she set about at once to realize it. Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. “Here goes,” he said. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast.
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