” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Almost at the same moment the door opened and Brendon entered, followed by the doctor. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. You should go home today and get some rest.
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