Mr. Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to Tyburn. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. He thought for a moment, and went on: “Love is something that has to be taken care of. It amounted to two-and-twenty pounds. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated.
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