You had better go to bed. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. She addressed Ann Veronica with an air of conveying great open secrets to her. Admire her as much as you choose—at a distance. Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew.
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