They ascended by a lift to one of the upper floors, passed through a long ward, and finally came to a bed in the extreme corner, round which a screen had been arranged. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired.
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