"Your son's father was a thief; and Jonathan Wild (unless I'm misinformed,) was his friend,—so it's not unnatural he should show some partiality towards Jack. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
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