" "If my dignity must be purchased by the loss of you, I renounce it," cried Thames. " Starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the Old Bailey, and crossing Fleet Bridge, "for oyster tubs renowned," the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached Fleet Lane, up which they hurried. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. .
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