Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. He was tall, slender, and suave. But it was clear she was in no mood for Teddys. And who knew if the men that Gerald had posted there would follow her to protect her somewhere else? In truth, where were these soldiers? She could not see them, although she assiduously searched the mist-shrouded square from the vantage point of the bay window in the large first floor room which had become her headquarters. A cup of lies.
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