On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. ’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it.
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