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On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. He asked her whether she understood what she was saying, and went on to say still more precisely that she should never touch a penny of his money until she came home again—not one penny. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss.
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