It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. You are too credulous. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. It was Annabel who spoke. Put on that new dress—the one that's all white. You are my prisoner, murderer.
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