" "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. You haven’t an idea what the sort of employment you could get there would be like, the sort of people you would be mixed up with. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. The quarry had passed out into the open sea.
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