She almost sprang to her feet. CHAPTER I. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Just go about with him. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse.
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