Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. ’ ‘And I love the way you call me imbecile,’ finished Gerald. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. I should be sorry if Shotbolt got the reward. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters.
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