Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. She was slender, and sometimes she seemed tall, and walked and carried herself lightly and joyfully as one who commonly and habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was preoccupied. "You'll lose no time," said the thief-taker. Of course, he had no idea who I was. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene.
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