"Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Half an hour afterwards the body of Jack was carefully examined. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. ‘The sisters here will not save you. Hope you ate light before you got here. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause.
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