’ Gerald cast a swift look up the corridor, but there was no one there, not even a shadow. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. ‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers.
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