‘Ha! It’s you, is it?’ He threw a glance at his two juniors. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. Such pretty manners, she thought. But on arriving in the tattered saloon where he and Melusine had hidden, a shock awaited Gerald. Too bad he’s not interested in any girl who’s not a musician. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so.
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