Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. Some of your sex, I mean. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench.
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