The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips. “I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. She was to see Capes to-morrow, but now, in this state of misery she had achieved, she felt assured he would turn his back upon her, take no notice of her at all. . Lives by his wits and gambling. ’ ‘From you,’ the lady threw at him furiously. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet.
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