She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. He carried a small bag. He looked down and met them. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. Coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention. He then looked around him with some curiosity; and, as the thief-taker was occupied in giving directions to his attendant in an undertone, ample leisure was allowed him for investigation. You told him there wasn't anything in the pockets?" "Yes. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes.
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