“I’m not so sure. His shouts for help were answered by roars of mockery and laughter. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis. ’ Gerald infused sympathy into his voice, and deliberately addressed himself to Madame. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. .
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