“She’s my wife,” the man muttered. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. “Not a bit of it. Too late. “One has to be so careful of one’s friends and acquaintances,” he remarked, by way of transition. Some day I may forgive you; but not now. 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. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. That’s all. I understand.
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