"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. But, as this produced no effect, and did not even elicit a groan, the prisoner was carried back to Newgate. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. "Whatever you say—you, behind those stars there, if you are a God.
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