"Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. "You are cousin to the housebreaker, Jack Sheppard. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. . ’ A tiny giggle escaped her, and she lowered the pistol a trifle. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench.
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