Later Lord Charvill told Jarvis that it had been precisely the same at the outset. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. “I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day.
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