“The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. The face that looked down upon Ann Veronica was full of amiable intention. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. She seemed to assume that it must certainly be something she had said. His expression became pained. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. It was wrenched away from Melusine’s clutching hands. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray.
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