They had not to tarry long. ’ ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I think as how you ought to go back to London,’ Jack ventured. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. . He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. Everything in the world had changed for her. His literary instincts began to stir.
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