‘I do not believe you. Only Leonardo, and then Jack, had shown her that she might be admired. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old. Such was the effect produced upon the passengers by his good looks and manly deportment, that few—especially of the gentler and more susceptible sex—failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon the handsome stranger. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. "Tom," continued Kneebone, calling to the shop-boy, "don't go home. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts.
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