The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. He smiled. “I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. "Well?" he whispered. Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. ” The irrepressible smile curved Anna’s lips. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station.
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