There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. 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.
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