She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded.
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