But that title he would not endure. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word. "Is it poison?" she asked. Arrived at the extremity of the building, he found that it overlooked the flat-roof of a house which, as far as he could judge in the darkness, lay at a depth of about twenty feet below. It was a moment or two before Gerald, opening his eyes on the girl’s astounded expression, recollected himself sufficiently to pull out of the extraordinary impact she’d had on him. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard.
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