"It's the ordinary's signature, undoubtedly," replied Jack. . . But he was wide awake. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. ‘If you’ll have the goodness, missie, to move yourself out of the way,’ he said aggrievedly, ‘and let us at him, we might have a chance of doing just that.
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