She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. She heard it open, but as she felt unable to look round in a careless manner she pretended not to hear it. Thanks. Sheppard, distractedly. Sheppard. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him.
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