"And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. "He will live," answered Ruth. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. He found his youngest daughter intrusive in his thoughts all through the morning, and still more so in the afternoon. A dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh. Seldom they molested a woman who appeared to know where she was going and who kept her glance resolutely to the fore. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated.
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