"The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. Your life is like a funeral March. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. ToC The noise of this disturbance did not fail to reach the interior of the prison. Austin was dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted thither by the news,—for it had already been extensively noised abroad.
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