‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. You can do anything you please. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. As he passed the Six Bells, he noticed the steeds of the two horsemen at the door; and glancing into the house, perceived the younger of the two in the passage. For she needed him. He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August.
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