On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route and paused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. “Not to-night,” she said. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. ‘But a spy I am not. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one. . So she approached him with sandwiches. ” “Do you still love him?” “Just the opposite.
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