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CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!—Don't alter a muscle, if you can help it. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying.
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