‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. Spit of your mother. Beneath the hood it was evident that her rebellious hair was bound up with red silk, and fastened by some device in her ears (unless she had them pierced, which was too dreadful a thing to suppose!) were long brass filigree earrings. Sheppard's attention; and no sooner did she in some degree recover from the shock occasioned by the sight of her son's debased condition, than, regardless of any other consideration except his instant removal from the contaminating society by which he was surrounded, and utterly forgetting the more cautious plan she meant to have adopted, she rushed into the room, and summoned him to follow her. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. My name is Wild— Jonathan Wild.
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