She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. The few whites he had ever known generally offered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. "Now, Mr. ‘Pitiful. 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.
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