"That'll teach you to keep a civil tongue in your head for the future," observed Thames, as he helped Jack to his feet. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. No one was allowed to pass along Newgate Street, which was barricaded and protected by a strong constabulary force. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life.
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