A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. His frowning gaze came back to her. She allowed herself to be ejected, therefore, and retired to the parlour after cleansing the blood from her hands and her own slight wound in the kitchen. As no apprehension was entertained of an escape by this outlet,—nothing of the kind having been attempted by the boldest felon ever incarcerated in Newgate,—both doors were generally left open during the daytime. He took up his hat and went.
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