CHAPTER VI. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. Manning? I suppose there’s a sort of place like a ticket-office. But her tears had been for Leonardo’s expulsion, and the loss of his companionship. Had she too been flying from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what frying-pan could be equal to this fire? All this led him back to the original circle. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. Long before religion and Society heard of Doubt, girls were all for midnight coaches and Gretna Green.
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