Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. She clasped her hands over her mouth in a silent scream. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed.
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