He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. It was better even than the hymn-singing. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. Between the two officers, with their arms linked in his, Jack Sheppard was conducted to the cart. He hated himself a little for it.
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