3. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. “I have given it up,” she answered. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. So do please believe that in this matter I am acting for the best. Thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm. ‘Long enough for you to see Frith for me. You met Sir Rowland at the house of a Romisch priest, Father Spencer.
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