She leaves town to-morrow. ” “Possibly—bit by bit. " "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. " "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. Rhea became alarmed that she was about to leave. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue.
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