When he returned from pissing, he sat down with her. Mr. Lost ground must be regained. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. Warding off the blows as well as he could with the bar, Jack struck both the horses on the head, and the animals plunged so violently, that they not only prevented their riders from assailing him, but also kept off the hostlers; and, in the confusion that ensued, Jack managed to spring over the fence, and shaped his course across the field in the direction of Sir John Oldcastle's.
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