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The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. She taught me how to crochet and cross stitch. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. Acquainted with every part of the jail, Jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted.
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