The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. She owed the nun a great deal, including her command of English, for no one else thought to ensure she could speak her mother tongue.
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