She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. There was a great splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. In fact, the reflection of the flames lighted up the ward in which Jack Sheppard was confined. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. Take it, I tell you.
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