“To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. It was impulsive and natural. The next hour makes, or mars you for ever. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world.
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