"Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. When I've escorted you proud fool to his new quarters, I'll proceed to the Mint and look after Jack Sheppard. But I tell you in return, I shall take no pains to hide myself. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. More than half the city perished.
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