Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. “Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. There were words, then, that ran on indefinitely, with reversals? Here they meant one thing; there, the exact opposite.
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