A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. “Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have done anything. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. He had gained admission somehow, and he too was waiting for Anna. I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern.
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