But there was an abiding serpent in this Eden. How Jack Sheppard was taken to Westminster Hall. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. They lived in a castle, the same place she had been turned in. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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