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. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. “I’m fine,” she said softly.
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