The hardest bout I ever had was with a woman—Sally Wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. With a curt command to her cavalier to get up on the box and give the direction to the interested coachman, he jumped in beside the girl and shut them both into privacy. I am resolved to see her, without delay, and ascertain if it's possible to remove her. A sarcastic smile seemed to play upon the chief-taker's lips; and abashed at his own irresolution, the lad went on. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. ToC Sir Rowland, meantime, paced his chamber with a quick and agitated step.
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