But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. ’ Quick anger flared, surpassing the fluttering hope. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. “John, don’t!” she cried.
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