Mother! do you know what you do? Would you sell yourself to this fiend?" "I would sell myself, body and soul, to save you," rejoined his mother, bursting from his grasp. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. A deadly sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She dismissed the idea of doing so. I’ll be waiting for you outside.
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