Tell Bess to slip out, and I'll put on her cloak and hood. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. I want my freedom. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape.
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