It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. “Your sex is a terrible fraud. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair. I know my son's voice too well. 1. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world.
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