Chapter XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN Sir John looked from one to the other of the two sisters. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. It is that, is it not?” “No,” he answered readily. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. His name was Sebastianus. Traci was the most grateful, because he stopped his sexual advances. The account of the discovery of Sir Rowland's murder filled Winifred with alarm; but when she learnt what had befallen Thames—how he had been stricken down by the thief-taker's bludgeon, and left for dead, she uttered a piercing scream, fainted, and would have fallen, if Jack had not caught her in his arms. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. It is dull—deadly dull. I wish I could get you to imitate Thames Darrell.
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