"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Mr. \"Sure. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. “Very funny. And, dragging Mrs. ’ ‘What, even less delightful than Gerald?’ enquired Lucilla, her eyes dancing. She was recalling the circumstances under which she had engaged herself to Manning, and trying to understand a curious development of the quality of this relationship.
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