She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. “You will be so late. He will be hanged—hanged—hanged. If the boy did not love the girl, why the devil had he dragged her into this marriage? Spurlock was a bit shaky bodily, but his brain was functioning clearly; and, it might be added, swiftly—as the brain always acts when confronted by a perplexing riddle. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. Don’t try.
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