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. ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. She should have slapped him but she was in shock at her own thoughts of lust that arose. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced.
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