The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. ‘That way. 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. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough.
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