“But what are you going to do?” asked Hetty. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. So long as she stood beside him, the Hand would not prevail. As O'Higgins signed the hotel register, his keen glance took in the latest signatures. 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. He had a wild impulse to shout. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell.
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