’ Gerald hissed in a doubtful breath. “I will wait for you on the pavement, if you like,” he said, “but I am going to the ‘Unusual’ with you. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. Manning? I suppose there’s a sort of place like a ticket-office.
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