5. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. . Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. ’ ‘So I see. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred.
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