She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. Hill again—alive. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. Brendon felt his arm seized. . . "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. Why should you wish to forget it? Unless it is that you did not enjoy it. Like a trollop in heat. He had taken it back.
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