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Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. "Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared. Last night there had been no time. "It is Jonathan. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said.
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