"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. "Confusion!" cried he; "there is another boat in our wake. “That’s all,” she said “I’m afraid I’m a little confused about these things. Ray did not pace, he just stood. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t.
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