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. I learned of your betrothal, gleaned all the information I could simply by eavesdropping. ” She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. Not the most stringent search, conducted all morning, turned up one solitary sheet.
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