'Oh, don't, I cannot bear it.'
'Which is it?' with an initial, premonitory shake. 'I will shake your wig off.'
'Oh! don't, I am in poor health.'
'Which is it, Marley or Holwood?'
'My teeth, my teeth!'
'I will shake them out of your head. Which is it?'
'She is my—my daughter.'
'And the mother—speak plainly—what is she?'
She shook him again. He gasped, he put his hand to his cravat. 'My—my wife—really, really—my lawful wife.'
'Then,' said Jesse, letting go her clutch, 'Winefred is rightly named. She is Miss Holwood.'