Anna, quitting her chair, dropped on her knees by her sister’s side and took her hand. They were silent for a time. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. I don’t see what you can have to say. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. Here, turnkey. Ramage, regarding it and putting a well-booted foot up on the bottom rail.
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