It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. As Jack departed, a dark figure, emerging from behind a wall, rushed after him. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. She gasped with pain, but she did not release her grip. Not afraid of me, either.
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