” Her eyes were lit with humour. “Mr. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. Their conversation became stilted. He had been baptized there. A white man takes his life in his hands. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain.
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