" "Impossible, Sir," replied Ireton, greatly alarmed. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. " "You would, if you had seen what I have. That’s my advice to you. You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. “Thank you,” she said coolly.
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