’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. And he did not lack courage. Having made a tolerably good meal upon the loaf, overcome by fatigue, Jack turned into a barn in Stoke Newington, and slept till late in the day, when he awakened much refreshed. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. “You poor little girl!” he cried. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. It was all highly intriguing.
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