"By George!" he exclaimed. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. "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 she had not dressed herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes.
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