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 was ushered into the back of the squad car. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his.
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