On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. "Pursue him," cried Thames to the attendants, "and see that he does not escape. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t.
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