On your shoulders—
TALBOYS.
And my Book? Lost—lost—lost! Not in any one of all my pockets. I shall go mad.
NORTH.
Not far to go. Why your Book's in your hand.
TALBOYS.
At eight?
NORTH.
Seven. Archy, follow him—In that state of excitement he will be walking with his spectacles on over some precipice. Keep your eye on him, Archy—
ARCHY.