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What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. I said to myself, ‘this will come. “I’ve gotta go. He walked hastily to the side of the broad pavement and summoned a fiacre. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. ‘But so also it is downstairs. Ah Coom. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed.

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