" "Not a farthing more, I assure you," rejoined Ireton, pettishly; "we're all on the square here. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. Sheppard, smiling through her tears. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. ’ Gerald was staring at her, an arrested expression on his face.
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