And so Winifred understood him. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. A young man, who had been spending the last hour walking up and down on the opposite side of the way, came quickly over to her. It would have been very well if she had been some common creature who might have been bought off. His curiosity put itself into a question. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. I've a question to ask him.
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