Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. ’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. Were any thing to happen to him, Newgate wouldn't be what it is, nor Tyburn either. She pulled herself together and put her eye to the eye-piece. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked.
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