The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. Taking advantage of his embarrassed position, Jonathan and his assistant rushed upon him, and disarmed him. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. ” He pronounced this with an air of profound conviction and with his eyes on Ann Veronica’s face.
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