CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH THOUGHTS IN PRISON Part 1 The first night in prison she found it impossible to sleep. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. “Maybe I should have stayed home. " And before she could be prevented, she lifted up the cloth, and disclosed Shotbolt. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. F.
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