“He would never have found you out if you had not personated me. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. She pawed at him, her hunger for his body making her dizzy with anticipation. ‘Pig! Pig, a thousand times!’ Running footsteps could be heard now, and she knew that the commotion was bringing the nuns, just as she had hoped. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost.
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