Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. “Thank you. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. " "What for?" demanded the turnkey. ‘What now?’ ‘Now,’ she answered flatly, ‘you will please to tell me at once why you have come here.
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