‘My name’s NOT More, Mr. Mrs. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. ‘Either you tell me why you want the wretched animal, or it stays here. I have an aunt who is coming to live with me, and I do not intend to receive any visitors at all. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers.
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