“I was surprised, I admit,” he said. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. That’s where you go wrong. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me.
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