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. He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. “But why now? Don’t boys know that I am involved with John right now?” “That’s not the way it works, Lucy. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. That is what I don't understand.
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