‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. A shiver slid down inside her. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. Placing a piece of money in Morgan's hands, he hurried out of the churchyard. ’ Martha got up with a swish of her black habit. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be.
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