He looked half at her and half at the sky. Prison was beastly. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. But not today. He next twisted the heavy gyves round and round, and partly by main strength, partly by a dexterous and well-applied jerk, sapped asunder the central link by which they were attached to the padlock. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. She waited expectantly.
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