He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. He was into the passage in time to see her slip into another chamber at the end.
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