Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. "Do not—do not!" "He must!" thundered Jonathan, "or he goes to jail. ’ Colour suffused the man’s face. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another. It was so hopeless to put it to them. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible.
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