And through all these defences and into Old Palace Yard, into the very vitals of the defenders’ position, lumbered the unsuspected vans. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. I did not reckon upon—him. He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gave her this impression.
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