Your adoptive father understands mankind better. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. “Sold again,” she remarked.
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