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"Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. . ” And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered, and behind her listening watched and thought about him. ‘That is better, no?’ ‘Dieu. . It’s these damned novels. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible.
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