Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. Given the proper incentive, who could say that he might not likewise go nobly to some fine end? She thrilled. Of all the amazing coincidences. "If you doubt my word, woman," replied the carpenter's wife, coldly, "ask Mr. Nor had Jack been idle all this time.
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