‘She wants me to marry her. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. I can decide for myself. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. It's precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's throat, as to order Jack Sheppard's execution.
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