’ ‘In a way she had been,’ said Prudence. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. Her father for fifteen years, and you now for the rest of her life! Tell her you're a thief. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. 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. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. “The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself.
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