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For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. Not if I read her aright. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. The great world outside! She stood motionless beside the trunk, deep in speculation; and thus the doctor found her. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist.
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