"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. It is a big house and there are many rooms in which to hide. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. After quarter of an hour, she followed. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. And then she fell into a musing about Capes.
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