The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. "I suppose I must have been senseless for some time; for, on coming to myself, I found this gash in my head, and the ground covered with blood. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. I think not. She had lost it.
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