I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. “Serves you right if I’d cracked your skull. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. I don't want her hurt. "I suppose I must have been senseless for some time; for, on coming to myself, I found this gash in my head, and the ground covered with blood.
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