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It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. Sheppard returned no answer. Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool.
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