London Bridge had suffered a degree less than most places. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. By the middle of July he was in full health. She opened her eyes. The stage manager came out from the wings, and taking her hand led her off. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers.
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