He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. ‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth so that he might open the door. He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced.
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