"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. "Mr. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. "Enough's as good as a feast. He saw the girl, and sprang up in bed. "Very well.
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