At this point a carriage with servants in sumptuous liveries was stationed. “I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. It is not so. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. You see, aunt, it’s the only possible way for me to get a good degree in my subjects, and father won’t hear of it. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street.
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