CHAPTER XXX. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. ‘I thank you. This too shall pass. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. She is no longer mine; she is yours. “And if I were you I would keep away from the fire. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. I keep on thinking of you. You're in luck to-night, widow. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. " "Take it," replied Thames.
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