Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. " "Give them to me," replied Jack.
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