‘Your mystery lady, I mean. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. ‘Certainly you must have seen her. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. And, then, forsooth, she must needs prevent your hanging Jack Sheppard after the robbery in Wych Street, when you might have done so.
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