And now, a fair exchange, Sir. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. "Spare him!" cried Mrs, Sheppard, who fancied she had made some impression on the obdurate breast of the thief-taker,—"spare him! and I will forgive you, will thank you, bless you. ” “For what?” Lucy asked. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. " "It matters not who I am," replied Jonathan, taking the money.
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