No, none at all. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. . Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Now, Sir. She’d have thrown this thing if you hadn’t stopped her.
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