As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. Warding off the blows as well as he could with the bar, Jack struck both the horses on the head, and the animals plunged so violently, that they not only prevented their riders from assailing him, but also kept off the hostlers; and, in the confusion that ensued, Jack managed to spring over the fence, and shaped his course across the field in the direction of Sir John Oldcastle's. Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination.
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