Give this fellow the slip, if you can, Jack. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her.
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