"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. I suppose I believe in God. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. She had heard the trader utter it many times. " "Not I," replied Jack; "I'm too comfortable where I am. "But trifle with mo no longer.
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