She looked at him mournfully. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. Of all the amazing coincidences. Wants me to look out for you a bit. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask.
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