Clientèle was of the most transitory character. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. The bolder members in the House left their places to go lobbyward, grinning. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. E.
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