Having made a tolerably good meal upon the loaf, overcome by fatigue, Jack turned into a barn in Stoke Newington, and slept till late in the day, when he awakened much refreshed. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. Horrible details recurred to her. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised.
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