’ Mrs Chalkney lifted her brows. Saint Giles's Round-house. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. 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. He returned, blue towel in hand. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep.
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