" "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. " And seizing her by the hair, he pulled back her head, and drew the knife with all his force across her throat. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me.
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