CHAPTER XXIII. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. While there's life there's hope. While he was thus employed, his nerves underwent a severe shock. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. She glared at him with satisfaction.
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