They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner. Gerald’s breath caught. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. “What are we going to do?” said Capes, with his eyes on the broad distances beyond the ribbon of the river. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. She forced herself not to think of John. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. "Fly, Captain, fly!" vociferated Blueskin; "I shan't be able to keep these devils down.
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