What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. There was more shouting.
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