While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. He would come swiftly to her aid, she knew it. Capes went first, finding footholds and, where the drops in the strataedges came like long, awkward steps, placing Ann Veronica’s feet. Kneebone helped to the pigeon-pie; while Thames unwired and uncorked a bottle of stout Carnarvonshire ale. He was in a curious state of desperation. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed.
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