" The spinsters stared at her blankly. ‘To read and write, of course, and to sew. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. “I am sorry. ” “It isn’t necessary,” they both declared breathlessly. Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. There were the burnt papers still in the grate.
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