" "None whatever," rejoined Wild. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. ’ ‘He did, you know,’ grinned Gerald. “I wish. Of all the amazing coincidences.
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