They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. After all, you may easily come to fetch Mrs Ibstock when you need her. ” Anna shivered a little. She loves you too well for that.
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