Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. There were no mourners. Of this man Kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,—which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six Bells,—where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed. “I’m not the Devil. I love him as a brother. She will cry for days and nights together. It's of no use. There's the paragraph.
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