She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. You promise to become a first-rate workman.
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