He could lose himself for hours at a time. His vocal collection comprised a couple of flash songs pasted against the wall, entitled 'The Thief-Catcher's Prophecy,' and the 'Life and Death of the Darkman's Budge;' while his extraordinary mechanical skill was displayed in what he termed (Jack had a supreme contempt for orthography,) a 'Moddle of his Mas. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. A queer nut. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment. Like the flaws of an old marble.
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