“Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly.
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