‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. They are not bad girls, but the average tourist has that misconception of them. She stepped on to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost to ice as he saw that she was not alone. 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. I bent over him. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window.
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