He looks upon Kit as an intruder, as one who has
obtained admission to that place on false pretences, who has
enjoyed a privilege without being duly qualified. He may be a very
good sort of young man, he thinks, but he has no business there,
and the sooner he is gone, the better.
The last door shuts behind them. They have passed the outer wall,
and stand in the open air--in the street he has so often pictured
to himself when hemmed in by the gloomy stones, and which has been
in all his dreams. It seems wider and more busy than it used to
be. The night is bad, and yet how cheerful and gay in his eyes!
One of the gentlemen, in taking leave of him, pressed some money
into his hand. He has not counted it; but when they have gone a
few paces beyond the box for poor Prisoners, he hastily returns and
drops it in.
Mr Garland has a coach waiting in a neighbouring street, and,
taking Kit inside with him, bids the man drive home. At first,
they can only travel at a foot pace, and then with torches going on
before, because of the heavy fog. But, as they get farther from
the river, and leave the closer portions of the town behind, they
are able to dispense with this precaution and to proceed at a
brisker rate.
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