” She laughed softly to herself. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. ’ His brows rose. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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