’. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. The command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did not appear to relish the rating. Sheppard. “Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm.
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