CHAPTER XXXII. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. You’ll end there one day, mark my words. It is a cheering reflection, that in the present prison, with its clean, wellwhitewashed, and well-ventilated wards, its airy courts, its infirmary, its improved regulations, and its humane and intelligent officers, many of the miseries of the old jail are removed. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. ‘Aye, that she was.
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