“It is about your sister, Lady
Ferringhall. Sheppard uttered a piercing scream. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless
world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want
things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing
happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. ’ It is the Press who find her out. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and
bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and
bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the
road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. Were I not
Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. I have work there. Bought the freedom of a sing-song girl; and all the
while you knew you'd have to tote the girl back. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or
not at all. But that instinct is severely
dampened most of the time. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your
hand and grip your fingers upon it. He went on with his song, accompanying it
with the most ridiculous grimaces:
"When years were gone by, she began to rue
Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!)
'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she,
'But where is my gallant of high degree?
Where! where!
Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?'
Ho! ho! ho!"
"What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. She slipped into bed and
struggled to stay awake until she heard Cathy and Larry
14
stirring.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 11-07-2024 18:52:38