Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. He brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished the pitcher, recommending Jack to be careful, as he would get nothing further till morning. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. " "That's the way it goes. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. I mean—I mean to do what I can. I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice.
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