"And Jack?" "Gone too," sobbed his daughter. . "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. There is a place—This isn’t the place. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. ‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party. The man lingered. If that is my sister’s message, pray return to her and say that the doings and sayings of Mr. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down 458 XXXI.
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