Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. “Go it, miss!” cried one. "Something worse, I fear," Wood replied. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out.
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