"I've done nothing to offend you," persisted Jack. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him. 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. "Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me.
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