” He referred to a sheet of paper by his side. You’re mine. I quickly ingratiated myself to Gianfrancesco, playing on his insecurities, drawing from his need for more and more power. ' He muttered it continually. Where I am in error, you can set me right. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. Not wisely but too well. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be.
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