They do a good job, huh?” He smiled at her. With Jack so badly injured, how would she get him home? How get herself home, now that Trodger had arrested her. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. Unless—would he hide from them as he had hidden from her? It was a big house, he said. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness.
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