" "How long have I been in bed?" "A week. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart. But it was only six-thirty. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him. “I don’t think she will,” she said.
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