6. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. There, in a little tea and sweetstuff shop, she bought and consumed slowly and absent-mindedly the insufficient nourishment that is natural to her sex on such occasions. " Here a murmur of amazement arose from the assemblage outside. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom. One who steals.
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