His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. But if not himself, there would be another soon enough. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. Now," he added, as his commands were reluctantly obeyed, "help me on with them. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. "Dog!" cried Wild, freeing himself by a powerful effort, and dealing Jack a violent blow with the heavy bludgeon, which knocked him backwards, "you are not yet a match for Jonathan Wild.
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