She caught her breath, and her eyes were lit with a sudden terror. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Wudd I'm here, and have brought him a message from his unlawful son, and don't be detainin' me, my darlin', for there's not a minute to lose if the poor lad's to be recused from the clutches of that thief and thief-taker o' the wurld, Jonathan Wild. . But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover.
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