With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. ‘Well, I can see you won’t let it alone, so what do you propose to do about the wench?’ ‘I’ll die before I let it alone,’ Gerald vowed. Her steps slowed. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge.
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