” He fancied that she was yielding, but her eyes fell once more upon that fatal envelope, and her tone when she spoke was colder than ever. I came to see you on my own account. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. “Yes, I believe he is. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. If you forget your sex, jade, I must forget mine. “All right, Dunster,” he said. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed.
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