Before I could warn her, she had sprinkled herself absently with half the contents of the bottle.
In spite of all the musk that now filled the room, the turpentine betrayed itself almost as soon as I cried "Stop!" Annabella, with a shriek of disgust, flung the bottle furiously into the fireplace.
Fortunately it was summer-time, or I might have had to echo the shriek with a cry of "Fire!" "You wretch! you brute! you low, mischievous, swindling blackguard!" cried my amiable sister, shaking her skirts with all her might, "you have done this on purpose! Don't tell me! I know you have.

What do you mean by pestering me to come to this dog-kennel of a place ?" she continued, turning fiercely upon the partner of her existence and legitimate receptacle of all her superfluous wrath.

"What do you mean by bringing me here, to see how you have been swindled?
Yes, sir, swindled! He has no more idea of painting than you have.

He has cheated you out of your money.

If he was starving tomorrow he would be the last man in England to make away with himself--he is too great a wretch--he is too vicious--he is too lost to all sense of respectability--he is too much of a discredit to his family.