” The change in Lady Ferringhall’s manner was subtle but unmistakable. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. .
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