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Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced. " "You want another drubbing, I perceive," said Thames, frowning. "You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. This will be safer than cutting his throat on shore.
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