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. “I wondered. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. ‘Not where we’re going. Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream.
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