Standing over the pierced Rhea, Lucy bayed, a long cry that was half-scream and half-howl. “So, how’d it go?” Lucy sighed. "He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared. “Which one?” “The one whose life you have been making a burden, who has been all the time shielding her sister. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. From this sorrowful state he was aroused by a loud derisive whistle, followed by a still louder laugh; and, looking up, he beheld the impudent countenance of Jack Sheppard immediately before him. The metrical irregularity is intentional, because I want, as it were, to put you apart: to change the lilt and the mood altogether when I speak of you.
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