" "Jack's mother?" exclaimed the young man. Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. "Extinguish the light," cried Jack; "turn to the left. “You need a reason. But not so much a pig as that man. " "Mend!" echoed Mrs. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. "For ever!" said the thief-taker, preparing to follow. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English.
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