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. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. " "I'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet.
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