The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. Practically it was most of the chief interests in life that she proposed to settle in this pedestrian meditation. The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. There were two sisters, you know.
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