Anna and her escort exchanged glances. Jonathan Wild?" asked the attendant, in great trepidation. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Turning quickly round, in the hope of discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed—for in spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow—to perceive Jack Sheppard in custody. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. One side of the face was white with foamy lather and the other ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed. Her cheeks were aflame.
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