“Which road am I to take now?” inquired the gipsy, as they came to the end of the one through which they had been travelling.
“Make for Blackheath.”
“What! not for Peckham?”
“No, shan’t go home just yet; my business is not over.”
“Why, surely you don’t intend—”
“Aye, but I do. One crib don’t satisfy me; have got to work another.”
“Well, you have got a nerve, Charlie. After what has taken place, I should have supposed it would have given you the sick of it for to-night, at all events.”
“Drive on to Blackheath, I tell you, and leave me to myself.”
“To yourself?”
“Yes, I’ll tell you what to do presently.”