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“He says you are frigid, Madame. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. My nerves are shaken. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. 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.
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