Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. "Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. ’ ‘You see? Not to be trusted,’ Hilary uttered disgustedly. Old Bedlam 291 IX.
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