"No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. Let me go my own way towards them. "An audience might have frightened the birds. This time there wasn't any doubt. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. “I can see you and Anna groaning and nodding your grave heads together. Jackson, to the swig.
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