‘Yes, tell us everything at once,’ instructed Lucilla, pushing him towards the sofa she had vacated, and obliging him to sit beside her. “My Mom was a good lady. But Michelle’s heart seemed to grow fonder to the subject proportionally to Lucy’s avoidance of it. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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