This is your choice. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. And when I have steeped him to the lips in vice and depravity; when I have led him to the commission of every crime; when there is neither retreat nor advance for him; when he has plundered his benefactor, and broken the heart of his mother—then—but not till then, I will consign him to the fate to which I consigned his father. The man’s hand flashed out, but immediately afterwards an oath and a cry of pain broke from his lips. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. “You too sing?” he asked. Your mother, for what it’s worth to you—for there’s nothing for you here, by God!—was the woman I chose for Nicholas.
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