"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. 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 sensed that he was looking for her. It's always hard work for a rich man's son to stand alone.
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