"How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison. " "Here you have it, my dear," returned the hawker. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him.
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