"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 can’t go. There were no mourners. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. “Let’s go. When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard.
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