"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 was going to tell me something— and he shut up. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. ’ ‘Alone, miss?’ ‘Certainly alone. And yet the moment I am safely out of the way you are content to dress yourself in my rags, to go and get yourself popular and admired and successful, all on my reputation. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. ’ ‘Pah! One little kiss, voilá tout. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. " Sir Rowland looked at her for a moment, as if he meditated some terrible reply.
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