“Hold on. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. Just me and another girl named Krista who turned eighteen and left right about when I got there. ” A shade of concern darkened Carol Diedermayer’s face. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. “I’d sooner condemn you to Hell. This spot, which still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old crone who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal character for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch.
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