What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. She—She can snub him. “Quite right,” she said. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. 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. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening.
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