Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. “I believe that he would bore me. “Quite particularly nice,” said her aunt. " "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. “I must try the Directory. "I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. .
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