The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. . Eating him while he was at the end of a heroin binge left her sleepy and dazed. "Forgive—forgive me!" "I have nothing to forgive," replied Mrs. "How!" exclaimed Sheppard. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side.
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