Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. I'll put a brace of dogs on your track, who'll soon hunt you down. It had ceased to beat. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. "Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson.
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