Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. A noise was next heard, as if some instrument were applied to the door with the intent to force it open, and Jack's fears were at once dispelled, At first, he had imagined they were officers of justice, come to convey him to a stronger prison: but the voice of one of the parties, which he recognised, convinced him they were his friends. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. It’s a thing that’s happened to you. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. She felt herself getting into a corner. I know something about men. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure.
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