ToC About an hour after the occurrences at Newgate, the door of the small backparlour already described at Dollis Hill was opened by Winifred, who, gliding noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on which was extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her pale careworn countenance, murmured,—"Heaven be praised! she still slumbers—slumbers peacefully. But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. Norris entered the room, followed by Father Spencer. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. He’s the sort of johnny who wouldn’t care about having a sister-in-law on the loose. Adieu! my charmer. She felt she had stepped into a world of unknown usages. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night.
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