A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. He seemed to be about to move toward her. Just beyond there would be her heart's desire. She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. “Any choice as to which of the Halls? You can pick and choose, you know. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands.
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