“Thanks, Cathy. Could it be him you mean?" "No. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. " "Pity!" shrieked the widow. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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