Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. "I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. And now, Sir Rowland," he continued, turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. ” She saw him flinch, but he gave no sign of it in his tone.
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