Too much trouble.

Besides, you're going to buy it, dear Dr.
Mountchance." The imploring eyes, the beseeching voice, soft and musical, the modest yet assured manner, were too much for the old man.

Unconscious of the destiny awaiting her, Lavinia was employing the same tenderness of look, the same captivating pathos of tone as when two years later she, as Polly Peachum, sang "Oh ponder well," and won the heart of the Duke of Bolton.
"H'm, h'm," grunted Mountchance, "you pretty witch.

Must I humour ye ?" "Of course you must.

You're so kind and always ready to help others." The doctor showed his yellow fangs in a ghastly grin that gave a skull-like look to his dried face.
"Hold thy wheedling tongue, hussy.