But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. “Let’s hope your successor is worthy of you. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. “Quite particularly nice,” said her aunt. Ah, and put him under if he wakes up.
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