Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. She could tell that he was furious in that instant. What need had she of Gerald, or anyone? Yet, if he was here, would he not make some foolish game with her and make her laugh? Instead of behaving in this fashion so stupide, and crying, crying, crying. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. For a moment she remained silent. He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. ‘Well, shan’t I come to the major’s house up Stratton Street, sir?’ ‘I’ll give the major your report, Trodger.
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