Part 2 Ann Veronica Stanley was twenty-one and a half years old. She must not show anything. "If you talk as long as an Old Bailey counsel, you'll not alter my determination. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be.
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