Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. Milky sunlight spilled on the floor. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. The imbecile. He was snoring stupidly. The worst was over now. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. . I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,—if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,—may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind.
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