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A moment more, and she was seated on his knee, with his left arm about her waist, drinking with eager and attentive ears, that suffered not a single detail to escape them, the fullest revelation of that atrocious plot, the days, the very hours of action, the numbers, names, and rank of the conspirators! A woman’s infamy rewarded the base villain’s double treason! A woman’s infamy saved Rome!
Now my poor wife, though she is as gentle as a pigeon, has yet a spirit of her own, and though she wasn’t bred upon the roads, can scratch a little; so when she saw me at my last shifts, she flew at the villain—she couldn’t bear to see her partner murdered—and scratched the villain’s face. Myself. Take another draught of the ale; you look frightened, and it will do you good.
“On what?” Lampaxo’s voice was soft as broken glass. “Years increase. I shan’t live long. We are childless. I will provide for you in my will by giving you in marriage to Hyperphon.” “Hyperphon!” screamed the virago, “Hyperphon the beggarly hunchback, the laughing-stock of Athens! O Mother Hera!—but I see the villain’s aim. You are weary of me. Then divorce me like an honourable man.
Cymon Tuggs behind it: pallid with apprehension, and blue with wanting to cough. ‘Aha!’ exclaimed the captain, furiously. ‘What do I see? Slaughter, your sabre!’ ‘Cymon!’ screamed the Tuggses. ‘Mercy!’ said Belinda. ‘Platonic!’ gasped Cymon. ‘Your sabre!’ roared the captain: ‘Slaughter—unhand me—the villain’s life!’ ‘Murder!’ screamed the Tuggses. ‘Hold him fast, sir!’ faintly articulated Cymon.
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