The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. But if you wouldn't have me positively dislike Jack Sheppard, you'll never mention such a subject again. Diane spoke first.
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