"Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. “All right, Dunster,” he said. . 4. C below. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life.
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