'O, my dear friend, I trust no degree of severity will be
necessary,' replied Glossin.

'Severity!' said the fellow, with a kind of groan, 'I wish you had
had my dreams when I first came to this dog-hole, and tried to
sleep among the dry seaweed. First, there was that d-d fellow
there, with his broken back, sprawling as he did when I hurled the
rock over a-top on him, ha, ha! You would have sworn he was lying
on the floor where you stand, wriggling like a crushed frog, and
then--'

'Nay, my friend,' said Glossin, interrupting him, 'what signifies
going over this nonsense? If you are turned chicken-hearted, why,
the game's up, that's all; the game's up with us both.'

'Chicken-hearted? no. I have not lived so long upon the account to
start at last, neither for devil nor Dutchman.'

'Well, then, take another schnaps; the cold's at your heart still.
And now tell me, are any of your old crew with you?'

'Nein; all dead, shot, hanged, drowned, and damned. Brown was the
last. All dead but Gipsy Gab, and he would go off the country for
a spill of money; or he'll be quiet for his own sake; or old Meg,
his aunt, will keep him quiet for hers.'

'Which Meg?'

'Meg Merrilies, the old devil's limb of a gipsy witch.'