"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 HAVE—had one or two talks with him, daddy. ‘En effet, it is for this that I was enquiring of this man if he has pen and paper. \" Michelle took the phone from her and called three different girls, finally arranging a ride to the movie theater on the east side of town. And Mother trusted him. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters.
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