Then a surge of rage welled up. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. For it was but logical that she would seek a divorce on the ground that she had unknowingly married a fugitive from justice.
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