’ Again, Melusine did not waste words. The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother. He was all alone, like herself. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. The walls were bare, and painted in stone-colour; the floors, devoid of carpet; the beds, of hangings; the windows, of blinds; and, excepting in the thief-taker's own audience-chamber, there was not a chair or a table about the premises; the place of these conveniences being elsewhere supplied by benches, and deal-boards laid across joint-stools. Mrs. 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. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window.
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