She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. But seriously ——” “Well seriously?” “Isn’t it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me your address, and allow me to call upon you. He was an old, skilled vampire. You will not find me unreasonable with you. I can’t even carry a tune with a bucket. But I can't consent to the course you would pursue—at least, not till I've given it due consideration. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. It doesn't annoy me; it only disturbs me. I'm an old hand at such things.
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