" "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. As he crossed the cellar, he passed so near to Jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture that he almost touched him. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. "No," replied Hogarth, hastily effacing the sketch.
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