She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. Lucy ate without passion. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. John stared palely. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. CHAPTER VII. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger.
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