The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. The simile started a laugh in his throat. 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.
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