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As it is, I'm not sorry for the blunder. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. I charged the thief-taker, as was the fact, with having robbed me, by means of the lad Sheppard, whom he instigated to deed, of the very pocket-book he produced in evidence against me; but it was of no avail—I couldn't obtain a hearing. He made a movement toward her, and then recalled the circumstances of their last conversation in that study. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. "I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. Nothing else weighs against it. A deep silence, however, now prevailed, broken only by the tolling of the bells of Newgate and St. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Sheppard's attention; and no sooner did she in some degree recover from the shock occasioned by the sight of her son's debased condition, than, regardless of any other consideration except his instant removal from the contaminating society by which he was surrounded, and utterly forgetting the more cautious plan she meant to have adopted, she rushed into the room, and summoned him to follow her. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him.
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This video was uploaded to ineel.net on 13-06-2024 02:41:21
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