"'I'd forgive her.'
"'Forgive her!'
"Mr. Pearson drew a long breath. He looked at Mr. Spooner and then he looked at me.
"'That's a wrinkle. Hang me, I will forgive her! I'll treat her with contempt and let her go. What shall I do with these gimcracks? I've kept them as though they were the richest treasures from Ali Baba's cave. Here's a lock of her hair, here's a rose from her bosom, here's a shoe from her foot, here's a bundle of her letters. You know what's in them, because I've read them to you many a time.'
"These were pleasant things for me to hear.
"'Spooner, what shall I do with these?'
"'Burn 'em.'
"'So I will. Here's the lot. Give 'em to the cook, and tell him to use them in the morning to light his galley fire.'
"He thrust the various articles into Mr. Spooner's hands. You may imagine my sensations.
"Then he turned to me.