One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house.
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