4. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. Soon, they fattened up, their cheeks rosy and their hair shining. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man. The chief of these was a figure of Liberty, with a cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of the fortunes of its former founder, Sir Richard Whittington.
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