Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. Once they were below, McClintock turned upon the doctor. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. Old Jersey and Hampshire family, the Pellissiers, and a capital stock, too, I believe.
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