She hung for a moment, and then went on, conclusively, “Until we have the vote that is how things WILL be. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. "Why you wouldn't stand in the way of his good fortune surely? I'll be a second father to him, I tell you. Married the other and ran off after Mary died. Wild!" demanded Trenchard, as if he had formed a sudden resolution. "No. Are you now satisfied?" "No," interposed Wood, furiously, "I shall never be satisfied till I see you hanged on the highest gibbet at Tyburn. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. An hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to Jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan Wild.
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