‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. Blueskin therefore had nothing to stop him. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. As soon as he could be moved with safety, Jonathan had himself transported to Newgate, where he was carried into the Middle Ward, that he might feast his eyes upon his victim. Her eyes followed him. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone.
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