She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Perhaps she was. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. ‘Why, that’s one of the names with which she tried to fob me off. Old London Bridge. Why shouldn't James Boyle pinch out a little fun while waiting? How was he to anticipate the girl and the sea-tramp called The Tigress? Something that wasn't in the play at all but had walked out of the scenery like the historical black cat? "I'll have to punish a lot of tobacco to get the kinks out of this.
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