If he wished, he could even take this inheritance from her. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. ” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim.
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