Sir John hesitated, and then continued. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. No— no, it must never be. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. “You remind me of the story which they tell against us over here, you know—of the Englishman who refused to be saved from drowning because he was unacquainted with his rescuer. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted.
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