“Good-bye,” he said earnestly. "Tut, tut! Don't exaggerate. ‘Well said, my dear. He's passed through some rough mental torture. ” The conversation hung for a moment. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. In this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare.
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