The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. “You have even her name. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. Yet there was nothing for her to do. Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. These starlings varied in width, according to the bulk of the pier they surrounded. " "Nonsense," returned Jonathan gruffly. It slipped out—as did that “she”. “I knew I should have died!” She went fast into a state of shock. I hated him. On that morning the death warrant had arrived from Windsor, ordering Sheppard for execution, (since his capture by Jonathan Wild in Bedlam, as related in a former chapter, Jack had been tried, convicted, and sentenced to death,) together with three other malefactors on the following Friday.
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