Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. Advancing towards Wood, Jonathan fixed his keen gray eyes upon him, and demanded, in a stern tone whether the persons who had taken refuge in the adjoining house, were bailiffs. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. We are going to have this chap writing books one of these days. “She’s all right. For a moment, Kneebone had hesitated about giving the signal to Shotbolt, but, thinking a more favourable opportunity might occur, he determined not to hazard matters by undue precipitation. ‘I hope I do not understand you. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. And now you know. Good night.
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