Jack's recapture was speedily made known to all the officers of the jail, and the Lodge was instantly crowded. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. But she disapproved more and more of her own mental austerity. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere. Then for a time she sat very still. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. Only her babe died. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner.
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