MRS. Winslow's head snapped up, her face twisting in rage. She thrashed against the ropes, her movements wild and desperate. Her eyes burned with fury as she glared at Holmes, her chest heaving with each breath. She struggled harder, her wrists rubbing raw against the ropes. "Shut up!"
Mrs. Thompson's face went pale, her hands trembling as she stared at Mrs. Winslow. "N-No… that's impossible," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes darted between Holmes and Mrs. Winslow, confusion and disbelief etched across her face. "How… how could she be…?"
Mrs. Winslow turned to Mrs. Thompson, her face contorted with rage. "How could I be?!" she screamed, her voice cracking with fury. "You left me at the doorstep of a workhouse in Whitechapel! You left me there to rot!" Her body jerked violently against the ropes, her wrists raw and bleeding from the struggle. "I am that daughter! The one you threw away like garbage! Do you even remember? Or was I so worthless that you forgot?"
