We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. The light fell upon the fugitive, who stood before him in an attitude of defence, with the child in his arms. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. Happened to be at the Chariot, you know, with Trodger, and it’s review day.
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