"Well, who'd have thought of Shotbolt beating us all in this way!" said Ireton. As soon as he could be moved with safety, Jonathan had himself transported to Newgate, where he was carried into the Middle Ward, that he might feast his eyes upon his victim. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. She felt conscious of her nipples becoming visibly erect under the tight t-shirt and wished that she owned a thicker brassiere. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her.
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