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. Ennison looked down on him in disgust. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. ‘You have come to me in place of Gérard? But how is it you will help me?’ ‘That’s all right and tight.
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