’ Jack Kimble took a deep breath. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. "You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell. . Then he could hear Hilary breathing beside him, and from outside the muted twittering of birds. Gregory B. Jack had well-nigh fallen too. Few men could have done as much. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not.
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