Her husband finally relented. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. That’s all. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter.
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