John picked it up and put it in her hands. In another instant, the collision took place. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. In vain Wood protested his innocence. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. . He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy.
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