Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. Between the two officers, with their arms linked in his, Jack Sheppard was conducted to the cart. At first she thought that the woman was just a servant. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. They must have a key.
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