“A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room. She wrenched her head away from his grip and got her arm between his chest and hers. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened.
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