Slowly she released the hammer on the pistol, uncocking it, and Gerald became conscious that he had been holding his breath. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. And a right set-to there were betwixt him and Mr Jarvis, I can tell you. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. And that’s why I’m at your service. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle.
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