Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. Later Gwen’s trouble weighed so heavily on Mrs. Mr. I feel at moments as though I could bolt for it. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. Rummage, my boy, do. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. ‘He was very kind to me. Please yourself.
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