The Procession to Tyburn 462 XXXII. It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. Winter came: rainy, damp, and savage. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. Anticipating this, Wild avoided the shot by suddenly, ducking his head. 255 “You have a very talented son,” was her opening line. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. ’ She struggled.
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