"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. The room was reeling, or was it that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme effort. "Then it's all over with us. " "No fear of that," laughed Kneebone. She was curious, and at the same time clearly resolved she must not hear it. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. It wasn’t so much women as Woman that engaged his mind. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. Her cheeks were aflame. You said that it would bring trouble.
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