ToC Ascending a short flight of steps, Jack found at the summit a door, which being bolted in the inside he speedily opened. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart. The nurse sent for him as soon as she saw that you were conscious. He has no imagination, no real generosity. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. He did not even care for his own inheritance at this place in Wodeham Water. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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