" "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. ’ Both hands about the butt of her unwieldy pistol, Melusine glared at him. He cried out but his father only waved 280 like an automaton until the apparition disappeared. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it.
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