Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. Why would your mother be so impatient?” Lucy speculated. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. And here, we may be permitted to offer an observation upon the peculiar and unaccountable influence which ladies of a shrewish turn so frequently exercise over—we can scarcely, in this case, say—their lords and masters; an influence which seems not merely to extend to the will of the husband, but even to his inclinations. He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances.
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