I take their life. But she had loved the man. Here was a thundering blow. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. To her chagrin, he ignored her, and turned a venomous eye on his betrothed. Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. Sebastian was physically beautiful, she reflected.
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