‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. . . There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. As to his mother, I've no pity for her. 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. Louis the Fourteenth yet lived, and expectations were, therefore, indulged of assistance from France.
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