144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned. Would to God I had. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. Capes came back into her mind. You are nothing of the sort.
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