" "Well, Sir, his name?" "Jonathan Wild. There was little fighting spirit here. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. The child was still safe. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. “Mr. ” Annabel laughed softly. Having watched the funeral at some distance, Jonathan fancied he could discern the figure of Jack; but not being quite sure, he entered the church. He lit a cigarette and loitered about.
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