"It is plain he has been destroyed by his perfidious accomplice," rejoined Thames. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. I won’t try.
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