Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. She was the consummate mother, even when extremely tired, she missed nothing. "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 doubt I hold any interest for him anymore. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. “Lucy, this isn’t funny anymore. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. "Is it you?" "It is," replied her son, "Oh! why would you not listen to me?" "I was distracted," replied Mrs. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation.
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