’ Looking round, she found the little coterie of soldiers crowded into the passage behind them. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. After all, that was life. It was in fact the first embrace of motherhood she had ever known. Here one might live the life of golden days. . Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. There would be no way of keeping her police questioning a secret from the entire neighborhood. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. \"Word gets round.
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