He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window. All this was the work of a minute. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. " "You trusted too much to your own skill, Jack," rejoined Thames.
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