Then she saw him. The Jacobite. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. Lucy did her best to avoid talking about it, but the subject was beguiling, as it almost always brought news about him from the grapevine within which Michelle was intravenously entwined. There he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. Occasionally he revealed tidbits about his past after a good kill. Lucy knocked again. “You—appear to know my name, sir,” Sir John said. All right, I’m coming. If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort. Wood is now in very affluent circumstances.
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