Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. "I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met," he said; "though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. It's only right that his people should know where he is and what has happened to him. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect.
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