"Aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now I'll show you no quarter. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. Are you now satisfied?" "No," interposed Wood, furiously, "I shall never be satisfied till I see you hanged on the highest gibbet at Tyburn. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused.
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