"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Taking the wind was her business in life. In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. ’ She bit her lip, frowning. Luck. He next twisted the heavy gyves round and round, and partly by main strength, partly by a dexterous and well-applied jerk, sapped asunder the central link by which they were attached to the padlock.
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