She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. You can if you will. 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. "Flying fish. Could she go through with it? She must. Her parents totally look the other way.
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