For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!—Don't alter a muscle, if you can help it. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. The two hostlers, however, kept close at his heels; and Jack, whose strength began to flag, feared he could not hold much longer. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. We have played at a little mild lovemaking again. That’s how it takes me. I worship you.
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