The delay was only momentary. "Nobody shall," cried Mr. Leastways, not on your own. "Where are you going?" she asked. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. And now— I suppose I should be considered too old. “So how about this Friday?” He asked.
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