"Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. ‘Least of all, one who takes advantage of another’s misfortune. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. ‘I knew you would be furious. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. Mr. I knew it.
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