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There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. . . The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. All this juncture, a thundering crash was heard against the side of the bridge. ’ ‘You are perfectly correct,’ agreed Gerald at once.
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