“One said I was floored by a charlie, and another left it upon a clip from a blackthorn.”
“No, no, Samuel; I ask the carnal means. Was it by that soul-destroying liquor, wine, or was it by worse?”
“Worse, worse,” I mumbled in reply.
“Oh dear!” ejaculated Mrs. Pryme.
“Ah me!” responded the gentle Rachel.
“Alack, alack! continued the conscientious Ruth.
“Name the snare of the tempter.”
“I’m too bashful,” I grumbled.
Nay, Samuel. Close thy ears, Ruth—avert thy head, Rachel; he would not have his shame revealed. Was it, Samuel, a dancing Herodias—or some Delilah, with bewitching looks!
“No, no; worse, worse.”