“My dad is into this stuff. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. But Jack was too well versed in the geography of the place to attempt either of them. 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. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves.
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