Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. And immediately afterwards the curtain was drawn aside, and disclosed the Satanic countenance of Jonathan Wild, who had crept into the house unperceived, "I'll tell you, why he can't go back to his master," cried the thief-taker, with a malignant grin. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door. .
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