Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. It is you who took my name, not I yours.
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