He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. She took some shirts, underwear, shoes, a duffel bag, and his wallet to make it look like he had gone a-traveling. 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. "I've done no more than my duty, Mrs.
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