"Very well, Mr. The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother 419
XXIV. “Who took care of you after she died?”
“My father. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. Was
there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully
furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were
they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a
rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going
astray. That would be an unkind twist of fate. He
was unable to possess Lucy's hand as he had in the
cinema, separated by the annoying chasm between the
van's plush seats. I love you—with all
my heart and soul. ’
‘And do not say you made a mull. There was a flash and a loud report. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black
seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would
have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. Sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force
to repel his advances.
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