I haven't forgotten her previous history.

You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son--perhaps, I ought rather to say _your_ son, Mr.
Wood." "Really, my love, these accusations are most groundless--this violence is most unnecessary." "I can't endure the odious baggage.

I hope I may never come near her." "I hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter.
"Is my house to be made a receptacle for all your natural children, Sir?
Answer me that." "Winny," said Thames, whose glowing cheek attested the effect produced upon him by the insinuation; "Winny," said he, addressing a pretty little damsel of some twelve years of age, who stood by his side holding the bottle of embrocation, "help me on with my coat, please.

This is no place for me." "Sit down, my dear, sit down," interposed Mrs.Wood, softening her asperity.

"What I said about natural children doesn't apply to _you_.
Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you." Mr.Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair.
"Owen, Owen," pursued Mrs.Wood, sinking into a chair, and fanning herself violently,--"what a fluster you have put me into with your violence, to be sure! And at the very time, too, when you know I'm expecting a visit from Mr.Kneebone, on his return from Manchester.