Her father had determined on a new line. "He hash eshcaped!" cried the Jew. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. The rest of the crowd followed suit with weak laughter. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. They walked two by two to the car, looking the part of 267 two weary spouses supporting their drunken mates after an all-night bender.
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