" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. I’m a man, and I know what I mean. I'll turn cracksman, like my father—rob old Wood—he has chests full of money, and I know where they're kept—I'll rob him, and give the swag to you, Poll—I'll—" Jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible. “My mind is full of confused stuff,” he said at length. She gurgled. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster.
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