"Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. “Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. I jumped then—I was not even shaken. I waited for them to get right out of the grounds.
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