She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. For a time Spurlock did not move. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. How will we get there, I’d like to know? We’ve no money.
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