"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Do you think I would marry you? Rather would I marry the pig in the convent. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. "So he may," rejoined Abraham, aloud, "so he may. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over.
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