She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. And go quickly that I may finish to search. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so. Sheppard!" echoed Jack, surprised out of his caution.
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