"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. " "The very idea is dreadful," whimpered Edgeworth Bess. "Be still!" "Oh, come along! I've just got to have my muck bath.
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