Sheppard, somewhat alarmed by this preamble. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. She was bathed in turbid water that had already been used. She came to me in a dream. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. I am bound to admit that I greatly enjoy my altered life. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. It reverberated in the silence. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques.
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