As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. Some of them are now buried at the bottom of the Thames. ’ ‘Well, let us leave your name for the present. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. ’ ‘Yes, but in fact you’ve offered me far more entertainment than any French spy could have done. CHAPTER XII.
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