I ought to have gone long ago. "How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell. "So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. Amid this tumult, several men armed with tremendous bludgeons, with their faces besmeared with grease and soot, and otherwise disguised, were observed to be urging the populace to attempt a rescue. “There have been other times,” he said a little sadly.
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