"I'll now pay the debt I owe you," cried Jack, tightening his grip till the thieftaker blackened in the face. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. "So the wheelman told you? I've always spoken it, though I can neither read nor write it. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. Jack was caught, as in a trap, by the pendant tails of Abraham's long frock; and, instead of obtaining his release by his ingenuity, he only got a sound thrashing. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here.
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