“Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. Ever since he's become so famous, the folks about here ha' christened it Jack Sheppard's cage. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own.
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