It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. " Roused by this reflection, filled with the deepest anxiety for his mother, and burning to be avenged upon Jonathan Wild, he grasped the iron bar, which, when he sat down, he had laid upon his knees, and stepped quickly across the room. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. Here we go, thought Gerald. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come.
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