The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 281: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CHAPTER LXXXII. MUTUAL DEFIANCE. TITLE AS PRINTED: Todd Takes a Journey to the Temple. “Black?” said Mrs Lovett. “Ves, Black.” “Do you think me so—” green, she was going to say, but the accidental conjunction of the colours—brown, black, and green— suddenly struck her as ludicrous, and she altered it to foolish. “Do you think me so foolish as for one moment to credit you?” “Hark you, Mrs. Lovett,” pursued Todd, suddenly assuming quite a different tone. “You have come here full of passion, because you thought I was deceiving you.” “You are.” “Allow me to proceed. It is, I believe, one of the penalties of all associations for—for—why do I hesitate about a word?—-guilty purposes that there should be mutual distrust. I tell you again, that if I had not moved the money from Brown, we should have lost it all.” “But why not come to me and get my signature?” “There—really—was—not—time,” said Todd, dropping his words out one by one, with a staccato expression. “That is too absurd.” Todd shrugged his shoulders, as though he would have said—‘“Well, if you will have it so, I cannot help it;” and then he said— “T was in the City. I heard the rumour of the instability of Brown. I flew into a shop. I wrote the order like a flash of lightning. I went to Brown’s like an avalanche, and I brought away the money, as if Heaven and earth were coming together.” There was not the ghost of a smile upon Todd’s face as he made use of these superlatives. Mrs. Lovett began to be staggered. “Then you have it here?” “No, no!” “You have. Tell me that you have, and that this Mr. Black you mentioned is a mere delusion.” “Black may be no colour, but it is not a delusion.” “You trifle with me. Beware!” “In a word then, my charming Mrs. Lovett, I dreaded to bring the money here. I thought my house the most unsafe place in the world for it. I and you stand upon the brink of a precipice—a slumbering volcano is beneath our feet. Pshaw! Where is your old acuteness, that you do not see at once how truly foolish it would have been to bring the money here?” “Juggler! fiend!” “Hard words, Mrs. Lovett.” She dashed her hand across her brow, as though by that physical effort she could brush from her intellect the sophistical cobwebs that Todd had endeavoured to move before it, and then she said— “T know not. I care not. All I ask—all I demand—is my share of the money. Give it to me, and let me go.” “T will.” “When?” “This day. Stay, the day is fast going, but I will say this night, if you really, in your cool judgment, insist upon it.” “T do. I do!” “Well, you shall have it. This night after business was over and the shop was closed, I intended to have come to you, and fully planned all this that you have unfortunately tortured yourself by finding out. I regret that you think of so quickly leaving the profits of a partnership which, in a short time longer, would have made us rich as monarchs. Of course, if you leave, I am compelled.” “You, compelled?” 33 “Yes. How can I carry on business without you? How could I, without your aid, dispose of the “Hush, hush!” Mrs. Lovett shuddered. “As you please,” said Todd. “I only say, I regret that a co-partnership that promised such happy results should now be broken up. However, that is a matter for your personal consideration merely. If I had thought of leaving, and being content with what I had already got, of course it would have compelled you to do so. Therefore I cannot complain, although I may regret your excuse of a right of action that equally belonged to me.” “Tf I only thought you sincere—” “And why not?” “Tf I could only bring myself to believe that the money was once more rightly invested—” “You shall come with me yourself, if you like, in the moming to Mr. Black the broker in Abchurch Lane, No. 3, and ascertain that CORniclooo S CO)