She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom.
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