"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 remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. ‘Either you tell me why you want the wretched animal, or it stays here. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain.
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