At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. “You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is.
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