‘I can’t tell you the times I’ve wished for a gun to point at Hilary’s head. By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. It was most amusing. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said.
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