Tom
shook the dust of that house off his feet, without having mentioned
Nadgett's name.
If the name could have passed his lips; if Jonas, in the insolence of
his vile nature, had never roused him to do that old act of manliness,
for which (and not for his last offence) he hated him with such
malignity; if Jonas could have learned, as then he could and would have
learned, through Tom's means, what unsuspected spy there was upon him;
he would have been saved from the commission of a Guilty Deed, then
drawing on towards its black accomplishment. But the fatality was of
his own working; the pit was of his own digging; the gloom that gathered
round him was the shadow of his own life.
His wife had closed the door, and thrown herself before it, on the
ground, upon her knees. She held up her hands to him now, and besought
him not to be harsh with her, for she had interposed in fear of
bloodshed.
'So, so!' said Jonas, looking down upon her, as he fetched his breath.
'These are your friends, are they, when I am away? You plot and tamper
with this sort of people, do you?'
'No, indeed! I have no knowledge of these secrets, and no clue to
their meaning.
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