Well, I don't blame you on that ground. As Jack appeared to be sinking fast, his fetters were removed, his own clothes were returned to him, and he was allowed a mattress and a scanty supply of bed-linen. I hardly see you anymore. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. Wood required little pressing. "Now come along, Jack. ‘And you, my girl, if you’d been born at all, would have been just what you think you are. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes.
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