Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. He could not quite make her out; a new type. Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her.
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