” John greeted him. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him.
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