The lad looked alarmed. Clientèle was of the most transitory character. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. 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. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. ‘And nor do I. I hardly see you anymore. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption.
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