There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. It was no easy matter to determine her age, for, though she still retained a certain youthfulness of appearance, she had many marks in her countenance, usually indicating the decline of life, but which in her case were, no doubt, the result of constant and severe indisposition. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. She obeyed, extending her arm. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. ” He was a little bewildered.
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