The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. ” “Then don’t talk to me now. I think over all sorts of things. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. We will go to the passage and then I shall bind you.
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