"What is this?" she wanted to know. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. She was a merry creature, it is true, and quite beautiful. An hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to Jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan Wild. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said.
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