He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell. He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss. To—to find myself. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. That is quite as far as I mean to tempt Providence to-night.
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