CHAPTER XXIII. "I lost a very valuable one some time ago. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. . .
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