“Time for my Patience,” she said. Against the walls hung an assortment of staves, brown-bills, (weapons then borne by the watch,) muskets, handcuffs, great-coats, and lanterns. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. Then before she could say a word to arrest him he was at her side. And it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice. . .
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