. CHAPTER XXVIII. “They ought to have been lopped in the spring. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Wood. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. For a long time neither spoke again. I want to know more about her. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. Sheppard, as I told you, is in Bedlam, an incurable maniac; while her son is in the New Prison, whence he will only be removed to Newgate and Tyburn.
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