"If I spoke to him, my interest might be misinterpreted. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. Lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to Snow Hill. “Isn’t there a brother to kick him?” “Mere satisfaction,” reflected Ogilvy. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. He heard the woman talking again. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent.
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