She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. “You see, I will take your arm. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. E below. ’ He endured the inevitable scold with patience, saluted Mrs Chalkney’s faded cheek, and went off to endure the necessary delay with what patience he could muster. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters.
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