\"I don't think so. “I’m fine,” she said softly. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised. I saw the blood come as he rolled over. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance.
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