The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. If by any chance I have made a mistake a word will bring me to you. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. The Storm. You know as well as I do that it was accident. I tried to get across the terrace and onto the bridge to introduce myself, but the crowds did not part and I lost you. I have not found the secret way into the house, for instance. This was enough for the poor widow. You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t care for me. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford.
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