You say I know nothing. I don’t. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. It was really very jolly to talk to a man in this way—who saw the woman in her and did not treat her as a child. 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. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator.
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