"Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. "You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. I did it in self-defence. Eluding the blow, Jack plucked his sword from the scabbard, and a desperate conflict began. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands.
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