"That's a good story, lad. She rested her head upon his shoulder. Sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived Jonathan Wild kneeling beside the body of Blueskin. I was always told my mother died the day I was born. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. "It was given me by poor dear Mrs.
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