He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke.
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