The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. "I suppose he'll be on his feet any day now. “We were afraid that you had deserted us for good, Mr.
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