"Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. "Zounds!" cried Kneebone, furiously. “Forgive you, indeed. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. He jumps the words out of your mouth; he takes hold of what you have to say before you have had time to express it properly.
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