“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. Jonathan, however, still lingered. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. So they fenced with smiles. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London.
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