"What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. The hardest bout I ever had was with a woman—Sally Wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. ‘What in God’s name is going on?’ Glancing swiftly towards the doorway, Gerald saw his friend’s disbelieving face and burst out, speaking over the top of Melusine as she made another grab for the little square of linen. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. C below. Go on.
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