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. Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. I don’t know. She had but to choose.
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