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“My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. Then he sensed the trap. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. It rather astonished him. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. They concern us all. Saint Giles's Round-house. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat.
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