Did the other girls thank you?” “Not really. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. ‘Brung the lantern, I did, and opened the door again in case you was ready.
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