" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. "Go on. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. Manning displayed distress. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. I know now what it is to be an abandoned female. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. 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.
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