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. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. Lucy? Come 177 on out. And, thrusting a piece of iron into his mouth, he forced him out of the room.
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