Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. Jack Sheppard is now wholly in my hands. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. It wasn’t pretty. His expression became pained. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. “No one asks you to care for them. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning.
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