In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. “Are you serious?” “You know very well that I should never joke on such a subject. Wood, delighted at the idea. Wild," he added, laughing, "it must be a stronger prison than Willesden cage that can hold me. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face.
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