The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. But it was not so ordered. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. He felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay. Her voice recalled him. Come along, my Newgate bird!" he continued, shaking him with great violence. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. He stared at her breasts while he touched them. " "Ay—ay," laughed Jonathan.
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