Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. "This gentleman wants a pair of oars," said the landlord. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself.
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