" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Everything was going to hell. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. Go away now, there’s a good lad. "They say her son's taken at last, and is to be hanged. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. “But how is it all going to end?” said Mr. .
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