She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. The moment I entered the room, and found you a prisoner in the hands of Jonathan Wild, I guessed how matters stood, and acted accordingly. It is a very good English name, no? But who is she?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, I should say,’ said Mrs Ibstock, correcting herself. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room.
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