The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. He smiled. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. ‘What if she does not agree? Could she reveal us, damage us amongst our peers? Are you certain that we should not kill her?’ He asked. “Sir John is not at all that sort. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. “YOU had to come in. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute.
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