ToC Jack Sheppard's first object was to free himself from his handcuffs. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. Outside the door stood one of the soldiers. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle.
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