Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. "There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. Old Newgate was divided into three separate prisons,—the Master's Side, the Common Side, and the Press Yard. “Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely. After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat. However, the scheme answered well enough, for Darrell has got off with his own brat.
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