She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. " "Your prisoner!" echoed Jonathan, derisively. The day is already half over. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes.
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