Jonathan kept his keen eye fixed upon him, as he addressed himself for a moment to the Hollander. Lucy had just began to invoke a solace where John was concerned, doing her best to shelve him as not so special after all. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. I’m not such a bad sort. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French.
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