"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Jonathan aimed a blow at him, which, if it had taken place, must have instantly terminated the strife; but, avoiding this, he sprang at the thief-taker, and grappled with him. In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him. No man knew whence she had come nor why. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn.
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