Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. If I were a clean, free man—We’ll have to talk of all these things. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt. Should be home soon. It was an uproarious affair, for Rollo now knew that he had been grieviously betrayed: they were trying to kill him in a new way.
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