“I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. But you must promise me not to go near that abandoned hussy at Willesden. He seemed to deliberate. I am dreadfully sad. Can’t ask the gent to go abroad and condone a bigamy. Sometimes I am frightfully busy; and then there will be periods of dullness. He just seemed to have no interest, consumed with the hunt or his newfound friend, Sebastianus, who supposedly would enable him to expand his political ties to Rome. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. The jailers robbed the prisoners: the prisoners robbed one another.
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