"Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Maggot. You’d think with as much dick as she gets that she’d cheer up. I’ve wanted you—always. "What do you want with me?" "A word in private," replied the other. “No, you weren’t bad in the slightest.
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