Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. She still could not muster the strength to leave. 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 kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town.
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