‘Yes, but quite my own fault. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. ‘I try to be. 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. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. There were game watermen and game lightermen, heavy horsemen and light horsemen, scuffle-hunters, and long-apron men, lumpers, journeymen coopers, mud-larks, badgers, and ratcatchers—a race of dangerous vermin recently, in a great measure, extirpated by the vigilance of the Thames Police, but at this period flourishing in vast numbers. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. It wouldn’t be you.
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