He could lose himself for hours at a time. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare. It needs cultivating, I think. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. He became angry. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. Aroused by the sound of the church bells, he resolved, at whatever risk, to attend Divine service. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. Only a book detective could dope this out. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell.
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