Nor Jacques. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. And do you, Jack, attend to your work, and mind you don't get into further mischief. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her.
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