‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. I went off to round up his wife. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. Her fingers rested upon his. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch.
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