"I would sacrifice all my fortune—all my hopes —to liberate him. They struck her as cold and indifferent. Leave the rest to me. I don't think. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. " "And so Sir Rowland murdered his friend," remarked Wood. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis.
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