For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip. "What's that?" asked Wild. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. So that way is closed. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. "You are my prisoner, Jack. " "Fool!" cried Wild, taking up the body, "what are you afraid of? After all," he added, pausing, "he may be of more use to me alive than dead.
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