You may have something to conceal, you may not. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. These starlings varied in width, according to the bulk of the pier they surrounded. 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. Her mind developed into savage wrath at the present conditions of a woman’s life.
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