"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. You’d better not have all the money on you; you had better open a small account in the postoffice and draw it out a fiver at a time. ” “It is very nice of you to think of it,” Anna said briskly. ’ She saw the weapon wrenched from Emile’s hand and he dropped to the bench of the pew and sat there, grasping helplessly at the welling blood on his arm. Your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind.
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