Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity. But Gosse began to drag her towards the door. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities.
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