At no time did she feel bodily or mental fatigue. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. A-L-I-V-A—Aliva—T-R-EN—Trencher that's it. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. ‘I told you I could handle her. In the little apartment, under the gas chandelier, his inches and his stoop were certainly very effective. 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. ‘The old man who lives here, idiot. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. I am.
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