"I'll make myself intelligible before I've done," rejoined Wild. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene.
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