"But be prudent, my angel. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. Covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the Thames.
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