Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. “I trust,” he said, “that you will recognize the justice of these conditions. ” She went on, with a desperate attempt to be easy and colloquial: “You see, we were rather good friends, I thought, and now perhaps it will be difficult for us to get back to the old friendly footing. You should remember, before you try your strength against mine, that when I rescued you from the watch, and you induced me to come and live with you, I beat off four men, any of whom was a match for you—ha! ha!" "My dear Poll!" said Kneebone, picking himself up, "I entreat you to moderate yourself. "I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. Her thoughts took words for themselves. ‘And me, I am a lady. Spit of your mother. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk. .
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