E. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. ‘You should not kiss me at all, and undoubtedly I should kill you. Ask mercy of the Lord for the salvation of your own soul, through the merits of the death and passion of Jesus Christ, who now sits at the right hand of God, to make intercession for you, if you penitently return to him. Monsieur is going inside perhaps?” But Sir John’s eyes were still riveted upon the poster, and his heart was beating with unaccustomed force. “Holy shit!” Giggling and snickering was amplified by asbestos tiles and reverberated by metal desks.
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