“Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. ” She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. She found an old drunk wandering the streets. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. ” “I like the mystical way,” she said. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. Something seemed awry. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared.
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