He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. Though a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his word. "I feel like work," he lied. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. Some one may observe us. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. At least for one moment, it was. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. In other respects, they were equally indecorous and offensive. “John.
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