“Dinner is served, ma’am,” he announced to Mrs. Jonathan looked in that direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm.
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