After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. It was a moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the attempt. He struck out from the shoulder, and the man measured his length upon the pavement. Nothing would stop her, and she was prepared to face the consequences. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. She had no idea what she should do. He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. Back, that you may be close together. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear.
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