"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. "Under the table. She had to wait some minutes in an outer office, wherein three young men of spirited costume and appearance regarded her with ill-concealed curiosity and admiration. Yes, I can readily believe it. Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose. “That’s suicidal bullshit, Lucy. " "As you please," returned Jack, leaping up; "but I feel devilishly inclined to finish him.
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