“There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. Jack's friends were allowed to visit him,; but as he had openly avowed his intention of attempting an escape, their proceedings were narrowly watched. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks.
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