Eluding the blow, Jack plucked his sword from the scabbard, and a desperate conflict began. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Marvel. I sha'n't cry any more. He told her something about music, the great world outside. ’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled.
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