And still you interest yourself in my affairs. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. His number was unlisted and unpublished. Perhaps she was. He was not particularly grateful for the present situation. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. Wood fared still worse. "Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. Why would militia be infesting the place? And he must by now be aware of my interest.
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