Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. 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. And then all her restlessness was turned to joy. The subterranean level of the Diedermayer house was fully bedecked with every luxury known to mankind. I’ve wanted you—always. .
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