The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother 419 XXIV. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. ’ There was a kind of aching hunger in Gerald’s gaze. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. . He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors.
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