His father and his four brothers had perished, leaving him to collect all of their spoils and various kingdoms. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. "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’m not discussing Shakespeare. As the movie reached its predictable apex, she clutched his right knee in a careful imitation of fear.
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