Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. She remained on guard. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. I do not even know his name. It was evident the lady’s servant knew his mistress, for he had come equipped with a tray upon which reposed a decanter and two glasses. With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react.
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