"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Sheila was finishing her laughter as Lucy brought an elbow down on the back of her head, expertly snapping the vertebra that connected Sheila’s head to her shoulders. ’ ‘I think you—’ He broke off abruptly, astonished at what he had been about to say. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy.
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