I'll turn cracksman, like my father—rob old Wood—he has chests full of money, and I know where they're kept—I'll rob him, and give the swag to you, Poll—I'll—" Jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible. He would know the truth then once and for all. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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