“Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons. She had fallen asleep.
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