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What you say is probably all true and necessary. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald. 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. It would not have been for her an anomaly to read a love story in which there were no kisses. She donned her gloves.
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