She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. " The attendant did not understand him. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. Not fit to be dust on your boots. He gave you a poison.
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