At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. "Who's there?" cried Rachel. " "For mercy's sake go up stairs," implored Sheppard. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—"I can't guess.
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