. He found himself thinking up all the psychology which he had ever read. . "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. “No, she just worries that I’ll go Satanic and start chomping the heads off of bats and mice or something. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep.
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