‘Will you stop hedging? I’m hanged if I go on with this ridiculous cat and mouse game. ” She took his hand, interrupting him. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. . “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. “I’ve got bad faults. Sanguine they were not. The boat's sure to run foul o' the bridge; and if she 'scapes stavin' above, she'll be swamped to a sartainty below. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head. Your aunt liked the pheasant. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station.
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