" After some further arguments, Jack assented to this proposal. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. I don’t quite know why. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. 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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