Their minds are turned against him. Sanguine they were not. Anna and her escort exchanged glances. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. He was tall, nearly six feet, and from his stature it was clear that he spent some spare time working on his physique. Then the work is optional; they go on their own.
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