"Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. I have been the vicomte’s secretary, remember. "So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. Fortunately, ever since Wild's late murderous attack, the household has all been well armed. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. His brows drew a little nearer together. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. Roused by Ben's warning, the carpenter looked up and could just perceive the dusky outline of the bridge looming through the darkness, and rendered indistinctly visible by the many lights that twinkled from the windows of the lofty houses.
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