"There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction. She was very pretty. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. “You ass and imbecile, Ann Veronica! You female cad! Cad! Cad!.
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