Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. Besides these, there was a sturdylooking fellow, whom he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him from his irons at Tottenham. That he was hot and breathless was of no matter; in that moment he would have faced a dozen Samsons. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. As Jack appeared to be sinking fast, his fetters were removed, his own clothes were returned to him, and he was allowed a mattress and a scanty supply of bed-linen. It was red and chapped.
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