Amongst others, a person near the door, roused by the shriek, observed a man make his exit with the utmost precipitation. It’s an instinct. ‘Odd sort of a nun. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. As it was feared that some mischief would ensue, Wild volunteered, if he were allowed a small body of men, to ride forward to Tyburn, and keep the ground clear until the arrival of the prisoner. "I won't trouble you further, Jack," he remarked.
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