Spurling, "I hope he may never see Tyburn. Her eyelids fluttered with recognition, and she cried out softly. Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. The visitor was the hotel manager, who respectfully announced that the doctor was ready for her. He encouraged her to join him in his debauchery. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off.
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