I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. But Gerald kept to a casual note.
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