The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. She moaned as she touched him. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. A sarcastic smile seemed to play upon the chief-taker's lips; and abashed at his own irresolution, the lad went on. He had abandoned his oars, and the boat was drifting with the stream towards the enemy. A coach was also in attendance, at a little distance. ” He shook her diminutive hand. “Don’t be childish, Annabel. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son.
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