The doctor frowned. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. I'll turn cracksman, like my father—rob old Wood—he has chests full of money, and I know where they're kept—I'll rob him, and give the swag to you, Poll—I'll—" Jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. "That's your hunting ground," said the doctor.
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