” Cathy ruffled Lucy’s curly hair. . ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. I was certain of it.
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