“Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. Oh! Christ! de door's shut! It musht have schwung to during de schuffle!" "Shut!" exclaimed Wild. Ann Veronica said she didn’t care. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to Tyburn. That won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort of thing. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest.
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