My only love is for my poor lost son. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force.
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