She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved. Wood, in equal trepidation. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar. ” “May I put you in a hansom?” he asked, lifting his stick. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things.
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