She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. 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. " "It shall be ready in two hours," answered Jack, seizing a piece of wood and a plane; "it isn't more than four o'clock. She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely.
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