But his hand was withheld by Thames. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Was not Gerald altogether on her side? He was, even though he played games like an imbecile, a person tout à fait sympathique as she had discovered at the outset. “Yes. " "Ah. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. He had the appearance of a man who has known no rest for many nights. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered.
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