ToC Nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation. His father and mother were a lawyer and a doctor, respectively. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. Jack's nose was broad and flat; Darrell's straight and fine as that of Antinous. CHAPTER IV. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. But it was not adieu, so she promised her old nurse. You'll be answerable for his escape.
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