He removed his cocked hat and came towards her. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. That was an admission all right. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. There, in a little tea and sweetstuff shop, she bought and consumed slowly and absent-mindedly the insufficient nourishment that is natural to her sex on such occasions. There'll be a fall of above twelve foot o' water, and think o' that on a night as 'ud blow a whole fleet to the devil. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short.
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