“I wonder,” he said, “is there anything we could do to help you to get rid of him?” “Can you think of anything?” Anna answered. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. From this sorrowful state he was aroused by a loud derisive whistle, followed by a still louder laugh; and, looking up, he beheld the impudent countenance of Jack Sheppard immediately before him. My motive in coming hither is to serve you, and save your life. Sydney Courtlaw, live here, please?” Anna asked him.
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