The String of Pearls (1850), p. 399

He closed his arms over his breast, and looked at the body for some moments in silence; and then, with a sneer upon his lips, he added—
"No, Mrs. Lovett, you did not show your judgment in this matter. Had you wished to watch me, you should have done it yourself, and not employed this poor weak wretch who has paid the price of his folly. Go— go!
He struck the chair from under the dead man with his foot, and the corpse that had partially been supported by it and the table, fell to the floor. Another kick sent it under the large table, and then, as another of Todd's victims had once done, it disappeared.
"To-morrow night, by this time," said Todd, musingly, " where shall I be!"

CHAPTER LXXXIX.
MR. OAKLEY IS IN DESPAIR AT THE LOSS OF JOHANNA.

The anxiety of poor Mr. Oakley increased each moment as he and the preacher neared the house of Arabella Wilmot's friends. We regret to say that Mr. Lupin did enjoy the mental agony of the father; but it was in his nature so to do, and we must take poor humanity as we find it.
It must be recollected that Mr. Lupin had, through Johanna, suffered great malefactions. The treatment he had received at the bands of Big Ben, although most richly deserved, had been on account of Johanna, and as regarded the old spectacle-maker himself, he had always occupied an antagonistic position as regarded Mr. Lupin.
No wonder then, we say, that human nature, particularly in its evangelical variety, was not proof against the fascination of a little revenge. Now, Mr. Lupin felt so sure that he had made no mistake, but that it was no other than the fair Johanna whom he had seen in what he called the unseemly apparel, that he did not feel inclined to draw back for a moment in the matter. Curiosity, as well as a natural (to him) feeling of malignity, urged him to stick by the father in order that he might know the result of inquires that he, Lupin, had no opportunity or excuse for making, but which Mr. Oakley might institute with the most perfect and unquestionable profundity.
As we have before had occasion to remark, the distance between Oakley's shop and the residence of the friends of Arabella was but short, so that, at the speed which the excited feelings of the fond father induced him to adopt, he soon stood upon the threshold of the residence, beneath the roof of which he hoped, notwithstanding the news so confidently brought by Lupin, to find his much-loved, idolized child.
"You shall see," he said to Lupin, catching his breath as he spoke; "you shall see how very wrong you are."
"Humph!" said Lupin.
"You shall see," continued poor Oakley, still dallying with the knocker; you shall see what an error you have made, and how impossible it is that my child— my good and kind Johanna— could be the person you saw in Fleet-street."
"Ah!" said Lupin.
Mr. Oakley knocked at the door, and, as one of the family had seen him through the blinds of the parlour-window, he was at once admitted, and kindly received by those who knew him and his worth well. He asked, in an odd gasping manner, that Mr. Lupin might have permission to come in, which was readily granted; and with a solemn air, shaking his head at the vanities he saw in the shape of some profane statuary in the hall, the preacher followed Oakley to the dining-room.
It was an aunt of Arabella's to whom they were introduced, and, with a smile, she said—