There would be no way of keeping her police questioning a secret from the entire neighborhood. “Rather darker than most of them. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. His name was Peter. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields.
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