On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid. “I’d give anything to kiss your neck. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely.
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