"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 look very handsome. I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere. "So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. Stanley as they drew alongside, to account for his own ruffled and heated expression.
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