. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. His chest heaved violently, and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks. What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. “I think,” he said, “that some one ought to warn her.
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