Winifred screamed. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. Wood, I forget nothing.
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