’ ‘Nonsense. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. When he saw, his roars could be heard across the lagoon. If that's true, she's not long for this world. Alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot, Wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise refresh himself. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. .
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