The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. Oh, Jack! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil conduct. "God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. “For my own part I have come fully now into my inheritance. I'll turn cracksman, like my father—rob old Wood—he has chests full of money, and I know where they're kept—I'll rob him, and give the swag to you, Poll—I'll—" Jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible. Ah, no, I have it wrong.
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