"Agreed," responded the Master. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. But here,—even here, the demon was suffered to intrude, and Jack's thoughts were distracted by Jonathan Wild, who stood at a little distance from him, and kept his bloodthirsty eyes fixed on him during the whole of the service. Ousted from his old retreat, the Cross Shovels, Baptist Kettleby opened another tavern, conducted upon the same plan as the former, which he denominated the Seven Cities of Refuge. It is as if my lips had been sealed about them. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one.
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