Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. Lucy? Come 177 on out. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. ” Her answer was terse. I shall always be kind to him; I sha'n't bait him. To receive him here afterwards would be most repugnant to me. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. "Oh! no—no—no," cried Winifred, "I cannot believe it. "Your son's father was a thief; and Jonathan Wild (unless I'm misinformed,) was his friend,—so it's not unnatural he should show some partiality towards Jack.
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