“Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. You see, I’m separated from my wife. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. ‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. ’ ‘That was not what I had in mind.
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