She was trembling a little. I had no curiosity of that kind. His face warm, Captain Roding glared them into silence, and firmly marched his captive off down Piccadilly, heading for Stratton Street where the town house of the Alderley family was situated. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She was suddenly very aware of the room, the television still blaring, and the chill in the air. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. If you had any idea what depths people have sunken to as you reside safely in this high fortress, you would search your soul to find the mote of charity left there. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit.
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