He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. 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. Before he re-entered the prison, he hesitated from a doubt whether he was not fearfully increasing his risk of capture; but, convinced that he had no other alternative, he went on. ‘All right, Trodger. But this chap is good wine yet. . I wanted to have something to give up. "That's it!"—eagerly.
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