She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. It still failed in something. . But she did not bother her head very much about her relations with these sympathizers. “I murdered them, John. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. I cannot protect you. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. "What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. ’ ‘I am not the imbecile you take me for,’ Gerald said with dangerous calm.
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