" The knight staggered as if struck by a mortal wound. It was really very jolly to talk to a man in this way—who saw the woman in her and did not treat her as a child. " "Not necessarily. " "Not at fisticuffs, perhaps," interrupted Jack, fiercely; "but I've my knife. 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. Charcoal. He stood away from her. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. " "I should think not," observed Jonathan, who had some practice in the knight's moods, and knew how to humour him.
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