"It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. " "You at least appear to forget that Mr. . ’ ‘What?’ Appalled, Gerald could only gaze at her. Then he did give way a bit. But we're neglecting the punch all this time.
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