And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. Knock on the partition if you want anything during the might. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night.
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