"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Love … to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then to add to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was a thief! For himself he did not care; God could continue to grind and pulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had already wrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. I cannot do it, David.
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