’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. "On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. "Why, what the devil would you have had me do!—make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink. "It is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be. "No," replied Jack. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning.
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