"Crime upon crime. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. “Our ways happened to lie together. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine.
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