Wood was once a favourite of yours. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. Kneebone nodded. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding.
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