"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. "Don't ask me about it now. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you. But he's witty and amusing, and when reasonably drunk he can play the piano like a Paderewski. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips.
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