Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. ‘And why have you not arrested him? Do not tell me you have allowed him to escape you. " Downstairs he sought the hotel manager.
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