She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. 102 When he took her out, he was proud of her. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. 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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