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He reached for her chin and lifted it up. Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. Fortescue?” “At your service.
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