" "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. This time they would call it murder. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. ‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. There it is. “Take me back. “Here goes for the new life!” “Here goes for the new life,” he echoed and stood up. ‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. Anna, why will you persist in this single-handed combat with life?” “Don’t!” she cried. '—'No fear o' that,' thought I. " He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers.
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