The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. The manager tells me that you are an American. “To Hell if we don’t change our ways. I'll turn cracksman, like my father—rob old Wood—he has chests full of money, and I know where they're kept—I'll rob him, and give the swag to you, Poll—I'll—" Jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible.
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