" The girl's eyes filled. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. .
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